


Before the Cannonball

by JanitorBot



Series: Game Restart [2]
Category: Rockman X | Mega Man X, Rockman | Mega Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Intrusive Thoughts, Maverick Virus, Mental Instability, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Repliforce, Retconning/Reinterpreting the 2nd and 3rd War, Set-Up Fic, TW: Reploid Vivisection, TW: Suicide, Technobabble, Though they actually signify something else for X
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-06-09 15:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15271059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanitorBot/pseuds/JanitorBot
Summary: Before the events of Mega Man X4, X begins researching the Maverick Virus.It’s not easy.Even before the monster came for him,  X was already fraying at the edges.





	1. Before it All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are issues I have with the MMX series.  
> Despite the intriguing lore, the writing is...strange to me. Especially concerning the virus, which isn't treated as the economic/social-political disaster of a matter as it should be.  
> So this series is my attempt to make sense of it.  
> Edit: 12-29-18  
> I did intend this fic to be a canon compliant stand-alone until it becomes an EXTREME canon-divergent at the last chapter, but I've changed my mind to make the extreme canon-divergence, and less this story make hints to it like "One Petal Stayed" does.

“X, are you okay?” asks Dr. Cain softly.

The eponymous android is sitting with his legs swung over the edge of the examination table, staring blankly at the space above his feet. His face is tight and he doesn’t respond to the doctor. The rest of the science team are standing around, exchanging exhausted glances with each other. The last drops of their sympathy have evaporated hours ago.  

“…I’m functioning,” X says, can’t bother to lie that he’s okay when he has clearly shown he’s not. He wiggles side to side to insert his hands underneath his thighs, trapping them down there. He doesn’t trust himself at the moment. “Just. Give me a moment. I’m sorry, I thought after the first couple of times I’ll get used to it but…”

“You don’t need to go through this,” Dr. Cain says quietly, which quickly receives a response.

“Are you kidding?” blurts out a female roboticist, recently hired as everyone else is. When a room full of eyes hone on her, she blushes at the attention but she keeps her back straight. “You think the Federation is going to accept zero results after everything? We _need_ to make reploids happen.”  

“If reploids can even be a thing,” the male programmer next to her inputs, arms crossed and eyes rolling. He claps his hands twice, brows twisted in annoyance. “Chop chop, let’s hurry up, robot. We can’t stand around here forever for your melodrama.”

“Dr. Johnson!” Dr. Cain hisses, to which the other man tosses an unsympathetic glare right back.

“What? I’m just saying what everyone else here is thinking. We’ve been  _constantly_ stopping in the middle of the operation all day and we barely made any progress. At this point I’m starting to think this is deliberate.”

Before Dr. Cain can furiously respond, another engineer whispers,“You think X is sabotaging us on purpose?” 

The programmer named Johnson flashes a withering look. “Think about it. Light didn’t tell anyone that he was making a goddamn android right under all of our noses. And when we find his lab, which we did out of sheer stupid luck - his data was inaccessible and the majority of the blueprints were erased. Have you wondered that maybe Light  _didn’t_ want anyone to replicate his design?”

“So what if he didn’t? If I invented something totally unprecedented, I wouldn’t share it either,” another scientist pipes up, eyes rolling. “Pulling a Jonas Salk isn’t going to pay my rent.”  

“Back to the point,” Johnson redirects flatly. “X’s processor acts the same way as a program. When it’s off, we’re only getting bits and pieces. Unless he’s conscious, he’s giving us nothing: no data, no coding, it’s radio silence. And when he’s awake, he makes it harder for us to do anything about it. Is it too much a stretch to consider that Light possibly programmed X to make our lives harder? Because so far he’s doing an excellent job making us feel like we’re committing live murder." He sends a withering glare. "On a fucking _robot."_

“Who can think and feel like a human!” Dr. Cain retorts, indignation rising on behalf of the silent android next to him. 

“Still a robot," is the ruthless reply. "Cain, you got your degree in robotics like, what, over a decade ago? So let me remind you of a fundamental truth that everyone else in this room knows, old man.”

Dr. Johnson marches closer to the examination table, twists his body around to face the crowd and splays his hands out towards X’s form as if presenting the android like a sculpture on a pedestal. “X is a  _machine._ Dr. Light could have been an extremely talented man and made a robot that  _acts_ like a human, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he actually constructed a successfully feeling and thinking robot! I’ve seen detailed sex bots that can carry out whole conversations with an impressive array of convincingly human-like gestures, but does that mean they can think and feel like a human? No! That’s all extensive programming! So did Light make an actual android? Maybe! But god knows we won’t ever know unless we finish one fucking operation and find out if we’re wasting our time or not!”  

It’s as if a metaphorical dam has broken down. Suddenly the entire team is in an uproar, everyone clamoring and tossing in their two cents. Every single technician, automaton engineer, programmer, software developer, electronic specialist, researcher, and more have all reached their breaking point of a draining day without a substantial result. Belligerent snipes are thrown across the room back and forth - the equivalent of children seizing and throwing the first toy they reach at each other.  

“He’s conscious the entire time, give him a break!”

“He’s not ‘conscious.’ It’s just software. Jesus Christ, he’s still a robot!”

“Can’t download or read any data while he’s offline…”

“- don’t need him to be online to understand what he’s made out of – “

“If he’s offline and we accidentally break something and he can’t tell us because he’s  _off-fucking-line_ , you want to take responsibility for fucking up Light’s last robot?”

“He needs to be online if we want to know where his subroutines begin and end when he starts exercising his hardware. How are we going to get the magic if it’s not even on?!”

“Say ‘magic’ one more time and I’m going to strangle you. This isn’t uni anymore. Once we understand which modules and data the calculations are based from, it’ll be fine. Everyone, just relax.”

“God, I’m surrounded by idiots – “

“Shut up, Girma. Here’s the million dollar question: does X feel pain?”

“X has already mentioned he felt pain!”

“Is he really feeling pain or is he just saying and acting that he has pain? It could be programmed for all we know!”

“That’s not the point! X has already given his consent so that doesn’t matter. The real question is to continue operating on X when he wants to stop, and then the question is what is a value of a robot’s life compare to a human? Because if X was a human patient, no one would be arguing right now!”

“No shit you human floppy disc, but X  _isn’t_  a human and that’s the point, you dingus!”

“Please stop fighting.”

The gentle plea comes from X, and all humans focus back to the sole robot.

Occupying everyone’s attention, X continues. “Dr. Johnson is correct. Dr. Light claiming that he created an android can be just that: claims. Unless you examine me thoroughly, there’s no way of knowing.” His face contorts. “I didn’t mean to be hindering progress but it’s…difficult.”

Dr. Cain is about to reach a comforting hand towards the android’s back to pat it, but halts in the air when X's viridian eyes snap up. The robot wears a wild expression with laser target focus onto the human for a split second and Dr. Cain has the bizarre feeling of nearly missing his hand being chomped off, like approaching a rabid, scared animal. 

Then it vanishes and X smiles wearily.

“I understand that because of everyone’s limited knowledge of my inner workings that my say has little value.” X hops off the table, the resounding clack of his pedes landing on the tiled floor causes a few people to jump.

Nearby, Dr. Johnson finds himself on the receiving end of X’s patient yet sharp gaze.

“But it would be very reassuring that the people who I’m allowing permission to slice open my torso,” the android begins with an edge, “peel back the layers that make me secure and protected and probe my insides to lay my soul bare to the entire world have some _sympathy.”_

As the entire lab descends into silence, X redirects his attention to the other scientists, satisfied with the effect of his words. He senses a couple people quail away, like scolded children, and he suddenly feels too young and too old, a sentiment leftover by playing out an entire unknown life in dreams. Others he notices have their eyes narrowed, unconvinced. 

X shuts his own and whispers, “I wonder if this is how a human feels when they’re pumped full of anesthesia and witness their organs being handled one by one, except I’m not a human. I’m perceived as a pure object of study. I can’t move and I can’t speak."

X raises a hand to his helm, lips pursed tightly. "I’m aware that if I want to stop, I can send out a message to halt, but I’m afraid that because you don’t care about me as a person, you will trample over my rights. I’m afraid that it takes a mistake to knock off a critical component in my system that can break me, thus preventing me from even sending out a cry for help. I would have a mouth but _I can’t scream.”_  

Though it's quiet, not aimed towards him, and X can't decipher exactly where it's from, the android catches hearing a soft scoff from the back of the room. "Is an AI seriously quoting Ellison? What the hell." 

Unable to stop himself, X quips back, "Am I not the one in the most disadvantageous position at the moment? Am I not the one being vivisected?"

The last word definitely has a couple humans recoiling.

 _I need to be patient,_ X tells himself.  _They've never interacted with anything like me before. Before me, all they've had were advanced robots and mechaniloids ever since the end of the Golden Age of Robotics a century ago. They don't understand how terrifying this is and there's no robot sophisticated enough to be able to tell them._

X restrains a sigh and gingerly climbs back on the examination table.

“We’re practically strangers,” says the last child of the late Dr. Light as he makes a motion of laying down. “But I hope that when I tell you that I am afraid, you will believe that I am telling the truth. Just as much as I believe that you will care for my personhood.” He smiles, hoping it doesn't look too forced. “I’m ready to be opened up again.”

 _And I hope that once we produce an entire race of thinking, feeling robots, that you won’t talk around them like you did to me,_  X thinks quietly as he watches the humans slowly resume into action.  _I hope that you will see and treat them as people as you do with each other._

The anxious side of X remarks that the world isn’t ready. Humanity isn’t ready to embrace a whole race of intelligent robots. In fact, history has shown that humanity can’t even handle each other within themselves. 

But X glances at Dr. Cain, who’s staring at X as if discovering the android the first time all over again, and smiles to himself. 

_It’ll be okay._

It will take time. Lots of time and hardships, for a reploid’s life to be equated to a human’s on a systematic level, but X is hopeful. He will take as much responsibility as he can as the reploid template to see it through. 

He can see it now: a world where humans and reploids working and living in peace together. Both peoples filling in space, fulfilling roles, and aiding each other in ways the other can't. 

(Most importantly, X won't be the sole android in a world that can barely comprehend his existence. He won't be alone.)

X's right hand twitches as the resulting twinge when someone prods in between his protective plates in his forearm, poking the air pocket between the piston release tubes and the wrist rotation track. He exvents quietly, restraining the urge to trigger the Variable Tool System and transform that entire limb into the Mega Buster Mark Seventeen.

His discovery is already met with reverence and fearful suspicion, and to reveal to a bunch of justifiably wary group of humans that he is embedded with weapons of mass destruction will not do him or the image of his creator any favor.

No one needs to know how to  _completely_ understand and copy his designs. There's a reason Dr. Light was careful after all.  

And X will make sure that some knowledge isn't meant to be learned. 

 

* * *

 

People generally blame Dr. Cain for not effectively copying X’s template. Fritz, the man even blames himself, but X sometimes think back to that small lab where he was opened up alive and how unbearably vulnerable he felt. The memory of the sheer, yawning terror of being disassociated from his body still gets his wires crossed years later. 

As X goes through the recently received sonograms from the detained Mavericks harbored in Cain Labs, brows drawn, weight building on his shoulders, he wonders.

Maybe if he went through the most invasive operations, or if he did voluntarily expose every centimeter of his essence wholeheartedly, then maybe, just maybe, the reploid template could have been perfected. That maybe his progeny could have the same powerful anti-viral capabilities like he does.

Maybe it’s X’s fault for crippling reploidkind.

And this virus is his punishment.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So funny thing about Mega Man: Maverick Hunter X.  
> If you play Vile's route, the ending implies something totally different from X's route. In X's route, Zero leaps onto Vile's Ride Armor, self-destructs, and presumably dies after the battle.  
> As Vile however, you don't have your ride armor and fight against both X and Zero at the same time. Even if you win the battle, thanks to story-continuation, Zero holds onto you and X finishes you off with a charge shot.  
> In short, it's an ending in which Zero never died in the first place.  
> I honestly prefer that scene in particular since the concept of Wily's final and epic creation dying that easily? Just to destroy a car with arms? Does not please me.  
> It does mean I have to consequently rewrite how Megaman X2 would go, but that can be lightly glossed over with something else.

After the first two wars and the series of smaller, isolated Maverick incidents in between, there was a growing theory among the humans that maybe Maverickism isn’t being caused by bad manufacturing. Then sometime before the third war, a reploid scientist proposed another theory and it caused shockwaves across the continent. That maybe the cause of rogue mechs and psychopathic reploids is a virus.

A virus.

X refused to believe it at first. Reploids, despite technically being robots, are closer to humans in terms of independence and individuality. He personally foresaw the construction of the first reploids along with Dr. Cain. He was  _there_ to see the beginnings of his people take their first steps on this world. The concept some sick, twisted person maliciously created some sort of programming to hurt his progeny like this…it’s revolting.

And that’s not even considering the other implications along with it. The implication that Sigma’s Rebellion was caused not by some poor child’s delusion of reploid revolution but by a disease. The implication that this hypothetical virus is stronger than a reploid’s soul.

Then Doppler Town happened. The third war happened. Against all odds and logic, somehow Sigma - the real, original Sigma, and not some reploid who looks and thinks it Sigma - happened _again._

And when Sigma barraged him with the virus, X personally experienced that sharp niggling sensation of something trying to crawl into his circuits. A million tiny pin-needle legs marching, scratching and digging under his plating and the responding, optic-crumbling agony that shot through X’s processor, and the emergency state that he falls in as his nanites battle off the violation.

X managed to beat it off but he was so disorientated that he couldn’t disengage from combat mode by the time backup in the form of Zero arrived. Core overworked and frame trembling, it took everything in X to hold off forced recharge. If X was a human, he may have had doubts if that experience even happened at all considering how outrageously surreal it was.

Ultimately, looking back to that nuclear mess of a war, X can no longer deny its existence. There _is_ a virus and it’s threatening both humans and reploids alike. It’s turning both peoples against each other, within each other, and bridging the social gap further and further. Hunting Mavericks is damage control, but it is not the answer the same way as gangrene can be delayed from further progression but as long as the infected limb stays...

When it comes down to it, there has to be a change. There needs to be a cure - a real cure and not the fake Doppler made.

It’s late evening when both the Azure Hunter and Dr. Cain are in one of the many cleanrooms in the laboratory. All machinery save for the ventilation turned off and the sterile lighting wash the white walls and pale Dr. Cain’s face and hands ever further.

The one human is slumped in his wheelchair, exhausted.

“X…I don’t want to believe it, but I do believe you. If what you say is true…that means you not only felt the virus but you also successfully fought it off.”

X raises a hand and looks at it, clenching and unclenching it. With a forced calm, he whispers, “There’s so much we don’t know. We don’t know who made the virus, we don’t know where it came from, and we don’t know the full extent of what it does to a reploid. We don’t even know exactly how it transfers from one reploid to another. I’ve felt pain, but what if I’m a unique case?”

“You probably are,” Dr. Cain mutters. “You're singular in many ways, X. Even if we somehow made a successful copy of you, there's no accounting for your thirty years in moral simulations or your...interesting integers."

Both human and robot grimace. X can recall as if it was yesterday with programmers such as Dr. Johnson raged when they couldn't comprehend where X's programming parameters begin or end. At the end of the operation, the team made their adjustments and estimations and worked with what they got. It wasn't like X could help them - he was as bewildered as the next person over the discovery.  

"Anyways," Dr. Cain swallows. "Despite how little we know, if we map backwards, we can now assume that Sigma…was among the first to be infected.”

Ever since the First Maverick War, they talked little of Sigma. X was hesitant to bring up the subject; it came with too much pain. But now it’s necessary.

Hesitantly, X asks, “You and Sigma used to correspond frequently when he was Commander. By any chance, did he came across anything strange during his work?”

Dr. Cain slumps. “If he did, he never told me. Ever since he took charge of the Hunters we had less contact, but we never lost it entirely. He kept visiting me. Hell, he visited me the day right before...”

The Rebellion. 

“I didn’t get close to Sigma as much I liked to,” X admits sorrowfully. “I was there when he was activated, but we both know that doesn’t mean anything.”

How a reploid acts in the early days after activation does not indicate their personality. It takes time for the personality matrix to settle in and the amazing aspect about reploids is that they can keep developing like humans do. Nurture influences them as much as nature does. X knows that better than anyone else. 

“I did get to know him a little better when I tried becoming a Hunter,” murmurs X, remembering how he argued with a dogged and concerned Sigma for a full hour in the young reploid’s office until finally giving in to X’s wishes. The former Commander was not fond of the idea of the prototype android being endangered. It left quite a memorable impression upon X. He shakes his head and remarks, “But without you, there wasn’t a need for us to meet. As the commander, he had his duties and his role to fulfill. I still couldn’t get to know him. If I did then maybe…”

“That maybe you would have noticed something different?” Dr. Cain interjects sharply. “Notice any jumps in behavioral change to indicate some underlying symptom?”

Dr. Cain croaks out a humorless laugh that sends the wires in X’s spine twitching.  

With a sudden start the man slams a fist onto his armchair though the power is weak. The chair exhaustedly rattles beneath him. 

“He was my  _son,_ X,” Dr. Cain mourns. “Maybe it's because he was the first I made entirely on my own, but among all the reploids I taught the concept of family to, Sigma was the only one who ever called me father. While I was upgrading him, he told me to opt out the synthetic hair. Do you know what the reason he gave me?”

The man taps the top of his own bald head twice with a mirthless smile before curling within himself. X feels his heart drop at the sight.

“X, there hasn’t been day that I didn’t wonder how much of that Rebellion was my fault. Sigma was my son and my responsibility. I was behind his construction, his testing, every single one of his check-up and his body modifications until he became the blasted Commander. You remember those journalists don’t you? After the Rebellion? How everyone kept asking me why it all went to hell? There’s not a single question anyone has asked me that I didn’t ask myself first, X."

The human's bony fingers roll into trembling fists on his arm rests. “If Sigma acted any differently, I should have been the first to know. I told you that he kept visiting me, didn’t I? If he acted any way out of character then damn me! I was his father _and I didn't notice!"_

“Dr. Cain, it’s not – it’s not your fault!” X cries out hurriedly, rushing towards the man’s side, eyeing the elderly man's quickened breaths with no small amount of nervousness. “None of it is!”

The roboticist's grey eyes snap to X, wide and wild, and X flinches at the self-loathing sight. 

“How, X? Look me straight in the eye and tell me!” Dr Cain’s voice is laced with heavy guilt and regret and X’s heart keeps plummeting as the human keeps going. “Now that we know there’s a virus, how is it not? For a hundred years no one ever matched Dr. Light’s genius and here we were, thinking that even if we couldn’t fully understand your design we’d go and make an entire race of people anyway! All those material substitutions and modifications – we  _degraded_ your design, X, and we thought it was going to be fine. Because of my arrogance, Sigma had to pay the price.”

Dr. Cain buries his face into his hands.

“You managed to fight off the virus. But Sigma? Sigma couldn’t. And now he’s become this monster because I wasn’t good enough. Whatever capabilities you had to fight the virus, I didn’t successfully replicate them.” A cynical scoff. “Replica androids. What a farce.”

Scrunching his face, X argues, “ If you’re going to blame yourself for that reason then I’m not innocent either. We built the first reploids together. We gave the templates to the other labs _together._ I...I didn’t want to be alone with myself so badly that I agreed to anything that allowed me to have others like me. Now that there’s more than hundreds of reploid production labs and factories all over the world, it’s too late to take it back. It’s my fault as much as it’s yours.”

X bends down on one knee, gently pushing down Dr. Cain’s hands away from the human’s face so X can look into the man’s eyes, forcing as much determination as he can in his own.

“Dr. Cain, we can guilt ourselves forever if we keep going like this, but it won’t go anywhere. The least we can do is to take steps towards understanding what we're dealing with and curing it."

The Blue Bomber’s first friend doesn't say anything. In this seemingly timeless room with no windows, only X’s internal chronometer is the only tell that the robot knows that seconds are passing at all/

After a long moment, Dr. Cain sighs tiredly.

“My lab has not become the most popular place of employment for most roboticists ever since the Rebellion," he starts, chagrined. "And having reploids be involved with something like this seems counter-intuitive. We need more resources and more minds, and honestly I don't know if I'll be able to successfully nag any. But I'll see what I can do."

X nods vigorously, eager to latch on any plan that excludes wallowing in negativity.

“Sounds good. I’ll start preparing subjects from my end.”

“They have to be alive,” Dr. Cain adds. “Even after you joined, the remains you’ve sent back didn’t tell us anything new." 

The Azure Hunter frowns. “Before the first war, the larger mechaniloids that went berserk were actually controlled by Sigma. The second war with the Counter Hunters, the reploid supremacists and Sigma cult fanatics, and the copy Sigma - " X huffs a vexed breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Who wasn't a copy now that we know that Sigma can really come back from the dead. Fritz, this is complicated."

The more X takes the whole "reviving Sigma" concept seriously, the more of a processor-ache it is.

X continues. ”I digress. The second war was a total rust show and I genuinely thought I was dealing with voluntary Mavericks. A virus never crossed my mind then. Between the second and the third war, the number of Maverick incidents did decrease drastically and so there weren’t much to send back to the lab in the first place. Taking an educated guess based on my experiences, rogue mechs won’t provide much data even if they’re infected.” Because chances are they’ve been reprogrammed to go Irregular. “If we want to find any possible traces of the virus, it’ll have to be…reploids.”

Live Maverick reploids.

X’s mouth snaps shut as Dr. Cain’s expression grows unsure.

“Live reploids,” Dr. Cain says slowly. “X, are you talking about...opening them up? Alive?"

X mentally and physically takes a step back. “I’m not saying we conduct invasive operations on live reploids.” Except that is what he was implying, wasn’t he? “But Cain Labs  _have_  received Maverick bodies before and we didn’t – we didn’t get anything from that either…”

_Isn’t this necessary for the sake of the greater good?_

NO!

No no no - X isn’t going to capture reploids and violate their rights, privacy, and lives like that. Treat them anymore than test subjects even if they’re Mavericks. A human doesn’t become any less of a person if one commits a crime and a Maverick doesn’t either.

“We'll keep everything non-invasive. Scans and schematic evaluations,” X says firmly into the thick silence hanging between him and the doctor. “It’s not uncommon for humans to go to a clinic and have a live physical. We’ll just do the equivalent for Maverick reploids. Hunter Base knows already that the reason I’ve joined is because I wanted to investigate Maverickism in person anyway. This will simply be a step up from what I’ve always been doing.”

Making a move to leave, X stands up. “Please contact me as soon as there’s a substantial research team in Cain Labs ready. It’s time for me to head back to base.”

“Wait.”

X stops.

“He’s…he’s still out there, isn’t he? Do you think...do you think there’s a chance…?”

The Mega Man says nothing.

 

* * *

 

Nineteenth floor of an office building at Sector West-20. The windows are littered with centered cracks like spider webs stretched out across the glass. Rows of cubicles have fallen in against each other like a tower of cards collapsed. Wherever the desks don’t cover on the tiled floor is already blanketed with splattered mechanical debris and piles of paper.

X slowly walks in through the bullet battered door barely hanging on its hinges alone with his hands up. He sees a grey, administration based reploid with delicate hands and heavy pedes wearing a facial expression likened to a frozen mask. She’s loosely holding what X can recognize is an illegally acquired, low charge buster as she stares down an ashen pale male worker with broken glasses with a gaping, sizzling hole in his chest within the burnt edges of his white collared shirt. 

In previous situations, X is required to rush in and commence termination to prevent any further casualties. Basic protocol.

But he’s not a B-Rank Hunter restricted to combatting mindless mechs before the First War. He’s not fighting some bizarre hate group with a vague grudge against him in the Second War or a cult conspiracy in the Third War.

He’s Mega Man X and he can now afford to see Maverick reploids as people. People who are potentially hurting others and not in control of themselves. He can do this his way.

When X steps on a piece of fallen paper and the thin material crunches beneath him, the Maverick twitches but doesn’t turn around fully.

“Hi Sharine,” X announces quietly. “My name is X.”

One of Sharine’ co-workers gave Alia as much information as possible, giving both operator and the Azure Hunter a clear profile of her: the first data-combing reploid into the office, she’s quiet, efficient, and stays in the office late after it closes. Squeaky hip actuators that she compensates by sitting as still as possible when she works away at her small desk right tucked in the corner of her boss’ office.

An hour and a half ago she walked in with a weapon and the calls started flooding into Hunter Base from there.

“I don’t want to fight,” X emphasizes. “I want to help.”

“But I don’t deserve any help. I killed him,” Sharine whispers emotionlessly.

“Can you tell me why?”

“I…don’t know.”

“You don’t know.”

The grey reploid shrugs. It’s a limp gesture on her mechanical shoulders.

X swallows. “It may not be entirely your fault.”

The Father of All Reploids force himself to say the next words, hating how they feel as they leave him. “You could possibly have hardware errors. A dangerously worn down suffering circuit for example. You could have some…some software issue.”

_You could be infected._

“If you come with me, we can give you a check-up and – “

Sharine turns around and X shuts up.

Before X can say, or do, anything more, Sharine raises the buster to her own processor and pulls the trigger.

 

* * *

 

X hates fighting. He hates violence, he hates that Maverickism is even a thing, and he hates that transforming his arm into a buster comes as easy as exventing. That he needs to always put his helmet on to keep in touch of the rest of the world without break.

It’s his duty to know if someone is getting hurt so he can stop it.

With the added urgency of knowing that there is a contaminable coding out there, X finds himself refueling his Ride Chaser constantly, on an active prowl for the next attack so he can step in before the other Units are called in. It’s becoming a habit to ride through Abel’s congested streets, roaming into the reploid heavy areas of the city to grab the opportunity of being the first responder to any potential attack.

For now, both X and Dr. Cain have agreed to keep the virus investigation a secret. In private, X struggles.

The Blue Bomber is still internally debating whether to inform Hunter Base that he has confirmation of a virus. It’s pertinent information and the other Unit Leaders’ cooperation can aid this investigation a hundred times over.

But what if it causes panic? Sow the seeds of paranoia and hysteria among the Hunters and that’s how they fall? What if by enlightening others X dooms them all in some awful self-fulfilling prophecy?

X’s imagination is powerful and the possibilities he sees make disturbing images.  

He needs to think on this more. Weigh the consequences on each end of the scale and make his judgment.

_Until then…_

X closes his eyes and flips frequencies to the authorized Navigators’ channels. Listens into the stream of calls and reports, breaks down the clusters of voices assigning one incident to a Unit at a time, filtering filtering filtering - there. A call of a Maverick reploid in the far south at a factory plant. 

The Blue Bomber opens his eyes.

_I’ll do this myself._

 

* * *

 

This mission was supposed to belong to the Recon Unit. A series of missing humans in a suburban neighborhood; the Recon Unit began the investigation and got impressively far into it. 

To everyone else it seems like an awful coincidence that the Elite Unit's patrol happened to overlap with the Recon Unit's usual hunting routes. That X happened to find another lead to the investigation thus officially involving him into this specific hunt. Right time, right place. 

X knows better but after he read the progress reports the Blue Bomber knew he wanted this Maverick. So X made his own analyses and executed his own agenda. No one would complain about Mega Man X becoming more and more proactive.

The apartment unit was originally owned by a rarely seen, elderly woman some time ago and is adorned with dainty, vintage furniture with the walls littered in family photos with the frames worn down with affection. Everything seems innocuous except for the completely out-of-place rectangular opening into the wooden floor in the bedroom with a set of stairs spiraling down into the inky darkness below to the unknown.

Some members of the Seventeenth Unit have surrounded the apartment building’s perimeter. Others are manning the escape routes such as the windows and the front door of the fifth room unit on the first floor. The Maverick is cornered in their hole.

X orders everyone to maintain their positions as he goes down the stairs alone. Everybody trusts X to know what he’s doing.

The smell of petrichor surrounds the Blue Bomber until his olfactory input sensors detect hints of iron and X expects the worst.

The Azure Hunter shadows pass crates of supplies, barrels of oil, and metal shelves of miscellanea until he comes to a more open space lit in dim orange hues. A rectangular metal slab with a white sheet dripping red over a body-like form with an unfortunately familiar Greek letter scorched black on the ground beneath it.

The purple-green Maverick standing behind the murdered human with their arms raised in praise, an unhinged smile gracing their features.

“Ah Mega Man X! Perfect! It must be the gift of the Master for you to come and witness my evolving! It’s only fitting that you – “

X doesn’t let the hostile finish. He knows what this is about.

The Hunter activates the EAS, rushes low for a sweeping kick, effectively knocking the Maverick off their feet. Within thirty seconds X traps the Maverick’s hand in the palm of his other, rotate the Maverick’s arm and maintaining downward pressure to it, effectively forcing the civilian reploid to go on the ground lest their arm will get twisted off.

“You – “ The Maverick yelps in pain when X presses down harder. Then whines almost childishly, “You didn’t let me finish!”

With a subtle configuration to his Variable Tool System with his unused hand, X produces a glue tool and pastes it between the Maverick’s lips. The Maverick stares at the Blue Bomber comically, as if to say with his eyes, “Are you kidding me.”

“I am the last person in this world to be interested in your sycophantic ramblings to Sigma,” X deadpans.

The rest of the Elite Unit watches their captain silently yet confused when X returns to surface level with an unterminated Maverick in tow.

 

* * *

 

A part of X believes that if he comes across an infected reploid he would know immediately. He’ll feel the same agony as he did with Sigma.

But another part of him reasons that he still doesn’t know everything about the virus’ attributes. It points out that he had contact with Sigma before and didn’t feel pain at those times. What if the virus acts like a sleeper agent and takes root into an unassuming reploid’s mind, blooming insidiously like poison? If Sigma’s will can be carried into the virus, doesn’t that imply that the virus has some sort of intelligence to it as well?

For now X needs to automatically assign every Maverick reploid he comes across with as a possible infected.

This time it’s an open music concert at Rachel Park in Sector North-14, not too far of the right side of the Nile exit ramp from the Red Belt Freeway.

Unit Twelve’s patrol was the closest but X manages to get there first.

As soon as he hops off the Ride Chaser, X powers his accelerators on full and dashes closer and closer until he’s facing a rushing river of humans and reploids crying and screaming at his direction, desperately bumping past him as they try to get away from the shooting.

“Do something!” a woman screams when she bumps into the Azure Hunter, crying out again as the next burst of what sounds like explosions release behind far behind her. The ground trembles and smoke taint the blue sky.

X can’t get closer like this, not when every step he takes forward there are multiple bodies pushing him further back. The Blue Bomber moves to the side, quickly reporting the situation status to headquarters before he gets on a clearer route to the bleeding heart of the attack.

The set up stage at the center of the park is in shambles. A borderline optic abusing, neon orange and green reploid stands almost triumphantly on top of the mound of wretched black metal. With assault rifles for arms and belts of bullets draped around his shoulders and chest like a cloak. The Maverick fires bursts upon bursts without prejudice at the fleeing people.

It doesn’t take a minute later for two medium, well aimed buster shots land squarely at both arms, viciously disarming the Maverick. They melt off at the elbows. The Maverick falls to his knees with a pained shout.

Once X approaches within view, the Maverick starts cackling.

“S-Smelt me, the Hunters sent X for me? Ha ha...that’s bolts!”

“I happened to be in the area,” the Azure Hunter replies, voice hard. “Why? What’s the point in any of this?”

“There were tons of bullets and there were tons of people so. Why not?” the Maverick replies cheekily. X can’t find a sign of remorse in the other robot’s eyes. The Maverick makes a show of leaning his head to look past the Hunter’s body. He whistles. “Oohhh, that’s  _a lot_ of red. I did a good job.”

 _This one’s like Vile: polluting the world with his waste. And waste needs to be_ incinerated.

X blinks, stunned with himself at the sheer ruthlessness of the thought he just had. Yes he’s angry and yes he wants to deliver justice, but to compare another person as trash?

_He could be infected. Bring him to Dr. Cain._

Better. That’s. Better.

Biting the inner pseudo-muscle of his mouth, X walks behind the Maverick and bends down.

“Whoa, what are you doing?”

Ignoring the other, X clinically feels down the back of the reploid’s right until he finds what he’s looking for. Then he presses his buster against the area between the heel and the calf and fires a low powered shot. The Maverick flinches.

“You have no weapons and if you try running you won’t go far,” intones the Mega Man. “You’re coming with me.”

 

* * *

 

X receives a message from Hunter Base that the Sigma cult worshipper he brought into solitary confinement died.

The guards were too late to stop them when the worshipper started bashing their head against the wall over and over again, yelling, “I will know true freedom!” like a mantra – hard enough to cause unrecoverable damage to the crucial nodes of their processor like the areas containing their integrated circuit chip and other essential memory data chips.

X orders for the Rachel Park Maverick to be put into forced sleep mode and kept in an airtight capsule. Ready to enter Cain Labs next week.  

 

* * *

 

X has no time. He shouldn’t have any time and every second he’s not utilizing it on something productive he’s wasting time, but here he is standing on the worn sidewalk at the edges of Abel Century Park while the humdrum of the streets buzzed on behind him. He’s blankly staring at the empty plots of yellowing grass and the rows of trees, partially naked with bushels of leaves crowning their roots, standing quietly and almost mournfully underneath a tinted grey, cloudy white sky.  

Barely any people and no birds. Might rain soon.

“Have you heard? There’s going to be another anti-maverick organization.”

It’s rude to eavesdrop but X can’t help but raise his hearing sensitivity. There’s two teenage humans, wearing hoodies and light jackets, dangling closed umbrellas by their side by the nonfunctioning water fountain more than a couple yards away from him. They’re turning away from the Blue Bomber so they don’t notice X’s presence.

“Yeah I did. It’s so dumb.”

“You think so? I think it makes sense. There aren’t enough Maverick Hunters.”

“Naw man. They should be making less reploids, not more. Like come on, you don’t fight fire by throwing more fire. All you’re getting is more fire.”

“But if you have more reploids, like, I don’t know, security reploids, then that could help maybe? Don’t give them any busters. Give them giant shields like y’know, those robots in the pictures. They don’t fight, they just guard. What were they again? Their names started with an ‘S’ – shit I don’t know.”

“Sniper Joes.”

“Yeah, those things.” 

“Okay, but what if those Sniper Joe reploids go Maverick huh? Any reploid can go Maverick. Fuck, even the janitor reploid we got at school. What if he turns Maverick huh?”

“Well shit, then he’ll kill you with a broom and you probably deserve it.”

The teenagers start chuckling, punching at each other’s shoulders lightly while X stands there, distantly thinking,  _Reploids are getting compared to weapons._   _Like guns._

These children are joking the way humans tend to do when confronted with something uncomfortable or upsetting and they choose to laugh because the other option is to cry.

 _Five minutes is a long enough break. Back to base,_  X reminds himself as he turns heel towards the direction of the Maverick Hunters Headquarters. He just wanted a moment to breathe, but ultimately that’s too much to ask. 

The world doesn’t stop moving for anyone, less alone for X. 


	3. Chapter 3

_X was well aware of the consequences of allowing the reploid template to be partial copyleft._

_But the question of whether or not to allow revolutionary technology to prosper sits next to the meaning of life and other philosophical debates in terms of insolvability. From the steam engine to stem cell research and to reploids, everything is at risk of bringing significant benefits and equally significant harms._

_The First weighed the pros and cons, made his decision, and hoped for the best._

_During the mass production of the few couple reploid generations, X could spot a random reploid on a street and not only name the model line but also accurately guess what kind of materials were used in their construction. Nothing could describe the sheer joy he experienced when he was walking by a daycare and met a civiloid he never recognized before. His name was Teddie and he apparently requested for extra padding and shock absorbers, all wrapped under thick faux-skin to appear soft and approachable for the children under his supervision._

_“It’ll be easier to dress up as Santa Claus when it’s Christmas,” said Teddie._

_X makes sure to keep that sweet memory in the back of his processor as he shoots down his way into Doppler’s fortress, as he finally sees the bizarre scientist reploid himself and closes his eyes, struggling to muster patience as Doppler begins to…._

_“…been waiting for you, X. I’ve been watching your battles closely. Your victories over my men have been most impressive.”_

_Monologue._

_“…need superior reploids like yourself, X! I offer you…”_

What a strange design _, X thinks idly, silently charging a buster shot incrementally as Doppler’s words wash over him. X can’t think of why a human designer would go through the arduous effort to construct Doppler to appear as he is: a bushy browed, elderly human with fake wrinkles and a long beard, which the reploid strokes, a gesture that recalls Dr. Cain in mind. Most likely, it must be Doppler’s decision to customize himself that way._

_“…and together we shall build a utopia where the reploids rule under the watchful eyes of Sigma, our lord and -”_

_The Mega Buster hasn’t reached full capacity but X fires as soon he hears Sigma’s name._

_Doppler may have outfitted himself a battle suit to augment his damage but he’s awkward and stiff. Doppler’s rigidity makes it easy to maneuver around his slow-moving attacks. Using a Tornado Fang here and there to force Doppler to go in the direction X wants him to be. A couple well-aimed Acid Bursts and charged shots later, Doppler goes down with embarrassing ease._

_“Why?” X asks wearily to Doppler’s body before him, a lonely, scorched thing laying on the scuffed metal ground and gobbling shadows. “First the X-Hunters, and now you? How many Sigma cults are there? How many more will there be?”_

_X groans. He’s talking to a dead bot but he can’t stop the words from flowing out. He’s so full of disappointment and vexation and what’s the point?_ What’s the point?

 _“Sigma is_ dead _,” the Blue Bomber whispers harshly. “No matter how many innocent reploids you fanatics design to look like him, to condition them to make them believe they are him, they will_  never _be him. That poor man’s son is never coming back." X glares. "How dare you.”_

_And now X has to offline another brainwashed victim to these cultists. Just like humans, reploids have the capacity for great kindness and great cruelty. Of course._

_A static. Then a wheeze. It’s the sound of pumps forcing themselves that eventually draws out into a dusty laugh._

_“Hah…you are strong, X…” Doppler gurgles through a mouthful of crumbled metal and internally burst fluids from the floor._

_“You can talk.” Doppler is sturdier than X expects._

_“F-fool, I made no copy…there is only one, true master...”_

_“I should start researching reploid and spirituality once this is over. The number of false Sigma idols you extremists make is concerning,” X says offhandedly to himself as he raises his buster again, preparing to end Doppler’s misery. To the white haired reploid, he says,” I’m sorry it has to be like this.”_

_Abruptly, the scientist reploid erupts in a high-pitched cackle, a sound that has X’s circuitry tied into knows along his spine. When Doppler speaks again, his voice takes on a strange lilted tone that has X captivated like a spell._

_“You can deny the truth all you like, but it will not stop the inevitable,” Doppler spits with wild eyes. His words slide through blackened teeth and wet gasps. “You can kill me a thousand times and I will never die. The virus exists and every reploid will be mine. Humanity is doomed to fall.”_

_He laughs, a shrill blade that slices X’s core with every echo it makes. Doppler no longer sounds like the composed scientist from before. "And there is_ nothing  _you can do to stop me, Lightbot.”_

_Instantly X registers a sound of something snapping, and Doppler’s head tilts backwards, eyes grow unfocused. His mouth hangs slightly open and the corners of his lips frozen in a manic glee._

_The Mega Man knows Doppler is dead and that the reploid was probably malfunctioning, had gone completely bolts, and was most likely rambling cryptic nonsense to induce doubt._

_X still shoots the corpse out of the unreasonable fear that he might come back._

 

* * *

 

“And you said Decker was making mistakes?” asks X.

Construction supervisor Maureen Torres of Belco Works doesn’t readily answer. Her gaze lingers at the sight of the Seventeenth Unit members binding a striped, yellow and black reploid’s wrists together behind his back, ushering him into the back of the transport vehicle. Dark hydraulic fluids dry on the trail behind him like snail slime.   

“Yeah,” Maureen says finally with a shuddering sigh, tugging her coat tighter to herself.

“And how long had that been happening?”

“Three weeks, ever since he got in a fight with this random reploid.”

“A fight? Can you tell me more about it?”

“It’s wasn’t a big deal. Some reploid trespassed into the lot and Decker was telling them to get out. The reploid flipped out, wrestled with him a bit and ran off. There’s not much to talk about it.”

“But since then Decker had been acting strange?”

“Personality-wise he was…he got louder? He became a bit more outgoing and sometimes aggressive, but never like…”

She pointedly glances at three construction reploids sitting on stools provided by the Lifesavers and receiving treatment some distance away. No one is offline but the mood that hangs over the bots is as if someone did.

“So yeah,” Maureen says lamely. “Physically, he was malfunctioning a bit.” At X’s encouraging look she continues. “He kept on putting more strength than he needed to and kept breaking stuff on accident. I thought maybe Decker’s got something loose - I don’t know, I don’t really know how reploids work. He’s got sent to the workshop a couple times for his arms but he still…”

She weakly shrugs. “Two days ago he pounded in a joint hanger so hard he basically uppercut through the ceiling. I told him that’s it. Either he gets opened up, like, really opened up, head out and everything at the shop or we lay him off. I mean, he’s been with us long enough. He’s already done with his service and his contract’s completed. He chose to stuck around.”

Maureen places her hands on her waist and throws her head back towards the grey sky with an audible huff. It comes out in a wisp like a passing ghost. “He never went.”

X’s proximity sensors dully alert him of an approaching presence behind him. He knows it’s one of his Junior Unit officers without needing to turn around.

“Sir, we’re ready to go,” the Hunter says.

“I still have something to do so go without me. Unless Decker is exhibiting self-destructive behavior, don’t put him in forced recharge.”

X isn’t fond of the manually triggered forced sleep; data can be corrupted or lost and can potentially create kinks in the reploid’s power distribution systems. If the issues stack over and over each other, it can become something fatal. It’s not a best solution to keeping any reploid down, ever.

Hunter dutifully nods. He marches back to the other Elite Unit members and relays the message.

“The trespassing reploid,” X begins as he returns his attention back to the construction supervisor. “Can you tell me more about them?”

 

* * *

 

After detaining the third Maverick of the week, a Hunter goes up to X and asks the question that he and the other unit members have rattling in this processors.

“Sir, why are we capturing the Mavericks? We’ve always…” The Hunter makes shooting motions with his finger guns. “At the spot.”

“I want to know why these reploids choose to become Maverick,” X answers. “If they’re offlined, we’ll never know.”

“But we already know why. They’ve got bugs you can’t clean out.”

“It depends on the Maverick because there are two kinds: one whose unlawful actions are a result of a construction error and one who chooses to be. If it’s the former, is it really the reploid’s fault that they turned Maverick? And if it’s the latter I want to know the reason. Because the Hunters’ primary method in engaging with Mavericks have always been shoot first and questions later, we’ve never truly looked at each Maverick we fought in a case-by-case basis.”

_And then there’s the third possible Maverick: one that has been infected by the virus like Sigma, which technically falls under the first category. Is it really the reploid’s fault that they’re a victim of a malicious program that twists their soul so?_

All this time, a number of Mavericks that X has taken down could have been innocent reploids who were simply sick. Who needed help only to face the other end of his buster.

The Father of All Reploids feels the increasingly familiar wave of guilt overcome him. He makes sure none of it reaches his face.

The Hunter looks bewildered. X suddenly realizes that he hasn’t ever talked like this with his own Unit members. He usually doesn’t talk such subjects with his own.

“Not their fault…” the young Hunter repeats slowly. “Sir, have we…have we been  _wrong?”_

And now X remembers why he hasn’t.

X hesitates. Cautiously, he says,” This is a grey area. Our job is to foremost protect people. It’s never that simple in the heat of battle; a Hunter has to consider many different factors and make a decision, which may mean taking down the Maverick swiftly and efficiently before they can hurt anymore innocent people.”

The Azure Hunter raises his right arm and is shifts into a buster before a subroutine can be executed. “I’m…different. I have the privilege to take more hits. To occupy more attention. Any other Hunter risk inviting more danger if they try to do what I’m doing.” The buster disappears for his arm again as fast as it came.

The Hunter’s confusion clears out for understanding. “You can do it because you’re Mega Man. Everyone else who tries to do the same is just going to screw up.”

X tries not to stiffen. The Blue Bomber knows of his reputation. That doesn’t mean he likes it and what it brings. But in this case, it’ll help the younger Hunters from beating themselves up for not being…

Him.

 _I really don’t want to be me right now,_ X thinks exhaustedly.

He’s been fighting too long.

 

* * *

 

Reploids will never suffer anything like muscle atrophy, aging, or health attrition. Reploids don’t have healthcare – rust, they don’t  _need_ it. It’s been theorized that a reploid with healthy maintenance, routine parts replacement, and a consistently protected and closed processor can have a lifespan that’s significantly much longer than a human’s.

(Except reploids as a race haven’t been on Earth long enough to confirm that theory. Written by the Abel City Tribune, there was a recently released report circulating online that stated the average reploid offline within five years, not unlike a vacuum drone bot. The report was swiftly removed, but there’s talk of it. There are so many terrible implications if that report is accurate and the deletion of it worsens them.)

Reploids don’t catch biological diseases.

This virus is the closest to being one.

It’s a contagious malware, which means there has to be victims.

Dr. Cain couldn’t find anything off in Sigma before the Rebellion, but what if that’s a unique case? What if Sigma was simply that good? Sigma was the oldest reploid who had undergone extensive upgrades and customizations to the point of being unrecognizable from when he was first built (Sigma used to be so small, no wonder Dr. Cain saw him like a son. He literally had a hand in Sigma’s growth) - all in order to be up-to-date and capable to be the Commander of the Hunters. With that much time for his personality matrix to settle and set in, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that Sigma’s degradation was a very gradual process.

That and being an active host of the virus.

But afterwards, who knows how much of Sigma’s display of megalomania is attributed to his growing arrogance of becoming this strange, undying entity thanks to the virus, or if it is directly influenced by the virus itself?

Either way, an entire profile of the virus’ attributes cannot be judged by one subject alone.

Take Sigma out of the equation then. The other Mavericks that X has fought. There has to be a pattern. Some consistent symptoms that X had kept encountering but didn’t realize when he was seeing them.

X scours through his memories, concentrating concentrating concentrating – X never understood,  _still_ doesn’t understand why any reploid chooses to be so needlessly violent and destructive. The race of reploids is so young. Everyone is a child compare to X, and it boggles him why anyone so young can be so prone towards violence. Even if one tosses basic morality out the window, from a logical standpoint violence itself should be something disdainful to robots. It’s not constructive. It’s destructive in a way that it’s wasteful and unbeneficial, nothing like demolishing a dying building to make space for a newer, more fortified one.

_All for the sake of reploid evolution._

Sigma’s words strike X once more. Reploid evolution. Does Sigma seriously believe that genocide against humans is a necessary evil for reploids?

Stop. Stop thinking about Sigma.

X has too many and too little memories to utilize. Most of the Mavericks X has fought were during wartime, and time is of the essence then. All fight to the death and no negotiation. Very little to examine. Asides from Sigma, X is confident that Doppler was a victim but besides those two? Biases.

Another issue is that there is a difference between reploids who go Maverick by choice and those who turned involuntarily. Until he has more information X won’t be able to know which is which.

X needs correlations. He needs to see if there is a relationship in how the reploids behave before and after they turn Maverick, if there is a relationship to how infected Mavericks act and the results of their physical checkup, and finally if there is a pattern among the behaviors. 

Correlation does not imply causation. However, it can offer a sign that can help X have some sort of perspective and X needs every bit of info he can get.

X is going to have to detain a bunch of Mavericks then.

The plan isn’t perfect. Neither is the method.

But X has to start somewhere.

 

* * *

 

The previous commissioner for Abel City’s police force, Commander Frank McCarthy is a greying stout man with salt and pepper hair, mousy dark eyes, and a trim Balbo moustache resting beneath a prominent nose.

However, while McCarthy is one of the more suitable humans for the position, X eyes the furrowing lines beneath the man’s heavy brows, the darkening shadows below his eyes, and the drooping curve of his shoulders, and understands.  

X used to be the acting commander for the Hunters during the second and third war and the blue android is aware that he had it easier than what McCarthy is going through currently. All X had to do back then was try to keep the Maverick Hunters’ alive and functional, using his title as Mega Man to be the lonely bridge of trust between the skeptical humans and the anxious reploids. McCarthy has to do everything what Sigma and X had to do and more.

So X sympathizes. He truly does.

And as he sits on the other side of McCarthy’s desk, X is trying very hard to remember that the commander position is not an easy one as he feels the frustration build up in the base of his compact tank.

“Please sir, this is an investment for a long term solution,” X replies, hands curling into fists on his lap beneath the desk and out of sight. “Even if there aren’t any manufacturing errors to be found, at least we need to know why these reploids choose to become Mavericks. That means not just terminating them but taking the time to listen to them.”

“Do you understand the full scope of what you’re asking for?” the Commander demands with narrowed eyes. “You’re talking about keeping the Mavericks here on base and providing them psychiatric help? There are better ways to spend taxpayers’ zennies than transforming half of Hunter Base into a Maverick daycare center.”

One of the five screens that sit on the wings of the Commander’s curved desk lights up with a ring. McCarthy presses a button, says,” Garris, if it’s not an emergency, hold all my calls until I get back to you again,” before turning his attention back to X again.

“X, you know better than anyone else that the Hunters are still recovering from the previous war,” the Commander states firmly. “And you know how low our numbers are. The majority of our funds are focused on bringing back the numbers the Hunters used to have.”

“And the Council isn’t going to give us anymore,” X finishes with a hard tone. “But it’s in the Hunters’ interest to curb Maverickism as much as possible. We need to research into this, sir.”

“’We are the sword and shield for those who cannot protect themselves,’” the Commander states the Hunters’ motto like a judge’s gavel. “That’s the Hunter’s foremost priority.”

“Sir, all I’m asking is for the Hunters to utilize more nonlethal takedowns. That Medical can conduct more in-depth studies into the Mavericks as well.” X pauses, then adds almost quietly and under his breath, “And for more areas of Hunter Base to be converted into detainment facilities for the Mavericks.”

Now that he’s voicing it all out he realizes it may be too much.

“Too much,” the Commander immediately echoes. “Even if you get half of what you want, right off the bat that’s adding an entire new system that we can’t afford at the moment. Housing, fuel, recharge tubes, parts maintenance, and pulling Hunters away from the streets to be here at Base to boost security. The unused rooms we have here at Base will be for incoming Hunters.”

“If the Mavericks are in forced recharge, they won’t require as much space or resources than the average reploid.”

The Commander glares. “Your Unit is already paying for the few you’ve brought in. Did you think I wouldn’t have noticed, X? You’re already preparing to do this project before your proposal was read.”

“My proposal is to make adjustments to how we handle the Mavericks as an entire organization. I wasn’t trying to hide what I’ve been personally doing, sir,” X says firmly. “Or that I should. Everything I’ve done wasn’t against any Hunter protocol.”

“But not your primary duty. I’ve let you have this test run and what happens? The captain of the Seventeenth Unit is running around doing everything else that’s not his job.”

Despite his core heating up, X keeps it out of his tone. “I’m still doing my part as a Hunter, sir. In fact, I’ve been more proactive than I ever had.”

“At the expense of the Maverick Hunters. You’ve been abusing your authority as the Seventeenth Unit Leader to do what you please.”

Unable to not gape at the accusation, X repeats, “I’m abusing my authority?”

“Is it in any of the Hunters’ directives to conduct investigations at the level you’re asking them to do?”

“By interviewing the witnesses and victims, as well as any other individual who knows the Maverick personally, we receive more insight! If a perfectly functioning reploid commits a crime, there has to be a reason. What kind of circumstances can cause a reploid to become a Maverick? We need to  _know_.”

Even though he and his squad haven’t gone through many investigations yet (and not well-formatted for such social-heavy work since they’re outfitted for combat, not detective work), X has managed to accumulate some interesting notes.

He’s getting something. He just needs  _more_  and he needs to be _sure_.

“Or maybe some reploids, like people, are just jackasses, X,” the Commander says bluntly. “This is the Maverick Hunters, not an emotional counseling service. Are you aware on how that looks to your Unit? To the other Hunters?”

“Joshua K. Holmes. Gerald Corinth. Haru Kawakami. Adam Nowak.”

“What?” the Commander reacts at the non-sequitur.

“Four criminals who were captured and sentenced instead of shot at sight,” X explains quietly, voice edging to something low and dangerous. “Is it too much a stretch to extend the same courtesy for Mavericks, sir?”

“I’m going to stop you right there before this escalates into something we both regret,” the Commander groans, hand reaching up to pinch his nose bridge. “But I want to know if you are aware of how it’ll look to the media if they see Mega Man sympathizing Mavericks? If the families of the victims of the Rachel Park Shooter see that the insane robot that shot their loved ones hasn’t been offlined like the ones before him, how do you think they’ll react?”

The Azure Hunter flinches.

“The Hunters rely on the public’s trust to do what they’re meant to do and the public need clear, decisive action. After Doppler, the Hunters are on thinner ice than before. I wouldn’t be here if the Council trusted reploids enough to have an independent branch after Sigma,” the Commander says with arms held out wide, gesturing himself sardonically. “If it seems like the Hunters care more about Mavericks than they do about humans, then what do you think will happen? The Rebellion wasn’t that long ago. No one has forgotten Sigma’s preachings anytime soon.”

X’s head snaps down, his jaws tight.

“I respect you Mega Man,” the man sighs. “But I’m here to do my job. Do yours.” 

_If I didn’t turn down the position, it would be me in your seat instead of you. I chose to be a Hunter and I can choose to leave it. You have no power over me. You can’t stop me from doing what needs to be done._

The thoughts come out like a knife in the dark and like a knife they stab X’s chest at the bizarreness of it.

Was he…was he seriously considering to go against orders?

“I understand, sir,” X forces himself to speak aloud, sitting with his words to ground himself. He’s been getting strange thoughts lately.

He never has such thoughts before. 

“Anything else, X?”

Maybe in those lines of emotions, but never…this isn’t like him.

“I’ll remove the Mavericks currently housed in Hunter Base away, sir.”

Words aren’t enough. His thoughts aren’t enough. He needs more grounding. X needs – he needs to be away from himself. He needs someone outside of himself.

“Good. Then you’re dismissed.”

Someone he trusts with himself. 

 

* * *

 

_“Zero, is this a good time to talk? I need your thoughts on something.”_

Radio silence. Then a sputtering crack of a responding transmission.

_“What’s going on, X?”_

X hasn’t realized his entire body was all geared up and ready to fight an unknown battle until he hears Zero’s voice and a sudden wave of relief comes over him. He’s on the rooftops of a fairly high building again, far enough from the edge so no one from the ground can spot him but close enough to hear the bustle of the streets. The wind is a softly nipping cold, a gentle warning for something harsher to come as the sun starts touching the horizon, washing the surrounding skyscrapers in a dying orange.

_“X?”_

The Mega Man takes a slow, deep exvent.

_“Zero, remember what I used to say about Doppler’s claims of a virus before the third war?”_

A snort.  _“How can I not? You were ruthless. I’ve never seen you cursed anyone else out like you did with Doppler after he appeared on national television for the first time.”_

Gawking, X backtracks.  _“What? I don’t remember cursing out Doppler!”_ He hastily replays through his memories to confirm that he didn’t. _“Yup, I definitely did not.”_

 _“Sure, you didn’t call him a rusting nutjob,”_ Zero offers graciously. _“But you did went on for_ hours _wondering if Doppler had a malfunctioning processor. In your speak you might as well have called him the reploid equivalent of a NOM Windows PT.”_

X holds back the surprised laughter bubbling in his throat.  _“The whole thing about the virus…it just didn’t make sense to me at the time. Hah, I remember researching so much.”_

 _“You did. For three days straight without recharge_. _I had to drag you into your tube because you had no concept of self-discipline. It was like you were a rookie all over again except stupider.”_

 _“Zero…”_  X groans, lips twitching.

 _“_ Then _you attended every single public conference and turned it into a robotics segment,”_ Zero continues, clearly amused. _“Fritz, I was watching the crowd and you didn’t need a bodyguard. You just had to start ranting about reploid anatomy. I never saw so many humans mentally shut down all at once.”_

Is this what humans feel like when they’re metaphorically punched in the gut remembering an embarrassing moment that happened five years ago? Because now X can relate.

 _“Zero, where is all of this sass coming from? You’re chattier than usual,”_ X asks cheekily, not really expecting an answer.

He’s simply enjoying this light-hearted volley between him and Zero, but the channel falls silent for a few seconds until, “ _We haven’t talked in a while._ ”

It all comes rushing back why X is calling in the first place.  

 _“…no, we haven’t,”_ X agrees with some guilt. “ _I’ve been busy._ ”

“ _You always are_ ,” Zero points out. “ _That never stopped us before_.”

The other Hunter isn’t wrong. In order to maximize overall Hunter efficiency and morale, the two most competent, veteran Hunters have accepted opposite shifts with X mainly working during the day and Zero at night; even so their schedules do overlap and they do have off-duty hours so taking the time to see each other isn’t impossible.

It wasn’t intentional but it’s X who pulled away first.   

“ _What’s going on, X?”_

The sun dips lower. Everything has turned red and X shuts his eyes.  

 _“I…I was wrong.”_ It shouldn’t be hard to say that yet X is raising his hands to his face as if to claw the faux-skin away. _“There is a real virus out there and it’s infecting reploids. Doppler was…right to a degree.”_

X almost expects for a silence to linger after that but leave it to Zero to never hesitate.

_“Are you absolutely sure there’s a virus? You seemed confident that Doppler was utilizing lobotomies and mindwipes.”_

_“Doppler was a victim too. The Sigma we fought in Dopple Town wasn’t a fake. He was real. I don’t know how, but he exists in the virus and it’s still out there.”_

_“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? You always told me everything.”_

_“I didn’t know everything yet. Even after experiencing the virus directly, I thought I took a hard hit to the processor and my input sensors were playing tricks on me. It’s only after I patched up and reviewed everything that I realized that nothing was wrong with me. I’m telling you now because I…”_

X sits down and raises his legs up, wrapping his arms around them. He feels small and useless.

 _“I was in denial,”_ he confesses mournfully. _“I didn’t want to be wrong. I had to be right because if I was wrong, that meant all this time I wasn’t fighting against a violent ideology and unreasonable extremists who have too much time in their hands. But the truth is I wasn’t fighting Mavericks. I was fighting_ sick  _reploids,_   _Zero.”_ Anguish creeps in. _“The virus – this_ thing _is tampering innocent reploids and turning them into Mavericks against their will and I’ve been hunting them without giving them a chance because I refused to see past my own ego!”_

_“Composure, X.”_

The Zeroth Unit Leader’s simple words cuts through X’s mental spiral and the blue android jerks in response.

_“I – I’m sorry. I’ve been emotional as of late.”_

_“Emotions are your specialty.”_

_“Hah. Except the one time reploids needed my sympathy the most, I didn’t provide it. Three wars and I didn’t spare a single person,”_  X whispers miserably.  _”I showed no mercy.”_

 _“Because it was war, X,”_  Zero answers without a beat.  _“If you hesitated, then you could be the one who’s dead and the world would be much worse for it. So what are we going to do with the virus?”_

_“You believe me?”_

_“I always believe you,”_ is Zero’s confident reply.

The Azure Hunter drags a hand across his face. _“You shouldn’t. I can be wrong.”_

_“More right than wrong. If I didn’t find merit in your beliefs, I wouldn’t have gone against Sigma when everything went bolts back then. So unless your plan is replaying the past and sulk, I assume you have something in the works.”_

_“I did have a plan,”_ X starts, frowning. _“However, now I’m not sure about it anymore. Recently I’ve been detaining Mavericks for abnormality research to prepare for a plan that I proposed to the Commander, but I was turned down.”_

_“The Commander doesn’t care about the virus?”_

_“I didn’t tell him about it. Outside of you, me, and Dr. Cain, the rest of the world still thinks that Doppler’s claims of an existing virus are just that: claims. Until I can confirm the virus’ existence and understand how it can be treated, I’m not telling anyone. Can you imagine if the Commander stops trusting his own Hunters?”_

The Blue Bomber openly groans.  _“Either way, I tried to present a case for the Hunters to invest into Maverickism research and it didn’t go through. That’s where I’m at a loss. For a moment, I thought about going against orders.”_

_“Is that the plan then?”_

X gawks, alarmed.  _“Zero, didn’t you hear me? I was thinking of going against orders. I thought myself to be above authority!”_

 _“To research more into this virus that threatens against all reploidkind,”_  says Zero, unimpressed by X’s dilemma.  _“That seems to be a worthy justification to go against orders and it wouldn’t be the first time. Sigma was Commander and he wanted you to join his cause. You hunted him down instead.”_

He did, didn’t he?

X couldn’t stand by and do nothing. That would be letting Sigma have his genocide and letting him be right. The concept of one race being entirely better than the other…that could never be right.

_“X, I’m going to go on patrol soon so I’ll make this simple. Remember what you told me when I asked you why you became a Hunter?”_

_“…To personally understand why Maverickism was happening and finding out ways to curb it. The remains sent back to Cain Labs weren’t enough.”_

_“Exactly. Ultimately, that is your directive. Whatever doubts you have, return back to your mission priority. This whole thing on what’s the right thing to do…”_ For once Zero falters. _“I look to you for that because I’m not like you. No one else is. But I can say this: I don’t simply choose anyone to believe in and I believe in you. You’re a good person and you care about other people, X. You’re worth believing in.”_

_“Zero…”_

_“Zero, out.”_

The transmission from Zero’s side ends hastily and awkwardly even though the Crimson Hunter’s voice doesn’t seem so. X’s lips quirk up in fondness.

“Thanks, Zero,” he says aloud to an unhearing audience. “I’m really glad I have you as my friend. I don’t know where I’ll be if I didn’t have you.”  

The Blue Bomber stands up fully right as the sharp slit of sunlight crawls beneath the edge of the distance. The sky is a rounded gradient and though Abel City’s light pollution makes it difficult to see the stars, the moon is dependably clear as always.

X knows what he has to do.

 

* * *

 

Before the wars, it was thought that the source of Maverickism was from construction malfunctions such as program errors or short circuits in the electronic brain. Maverick Hunters under Sigma’s command were trained in nonlethal takedowns in order to bring in the Mavericks live for examinations. Sadly, they were largely unsuccessful. No matter what, protecting lives was and still is a foremost priority, which meant that in more cases than not the Mavericks were offlined. Whatever remains that had survived and sent back to the labs did not yield much data.

After Sigma’s Rebellion and Doppler’s Invasion occurred, protocol has subtly shifted. Every action enacted against a Maverick must be ruthless. Most, if not all, Mavericks must be terminated on-site with extreme prejudice.

Which means what X is doing right now is unconventional.

“So you didn’t get permission then?” Dr. Cain asks with a raised brow when X strides into the lab.

Currently X’s iconic azure colors are swapped for subdued greys and browns. His helmet has changed shape to appear boxy and Afrisia Parcel Service’s logo sits on the left side of X’s chassis.

The Hunter is wheeling in a long, rectangular metal utility cart with cardboard boxes peeking out from beneath the vinyl fabric blanketing it. As soon as the door closes automatically right behind him, X reverts back to his default state.

“No,” says X briskly as he pulls one end of the cart’s cover to the side. “But I’m not going to let that stop me. I joined the Hunters to understand why Maverickism is happening and I will see that directive realized.”

Eyes on the larger picture always.

Systematically, X starts taking out the larger boxes sitting on the top of the pile out to reveal a disconnected, economical model recharge tube at the bottom.

Bringing his wheelchair closer to the cart, Dr. Cain squints down at the compact tube. “This one looks like they’re from a UtiUni model line.” He tilts his head. “And a very new one at that. But I don’t remember seeing one of those going Maverick in the news recently.” 

“You wouldn’t recognize him like this,” X provides. “If I didn’t strip off the paint and disarm him, barely anyone would recognize the Rachel Park Shooter.” A mirthless snort. “He goes by Trigger.”

The scientist’s head darts back to the Azure Hunter, grey eyes sharp. “If you don’t have the green light, how did you cover this one, X?” 

“Investigative detention,” X says as he presses a subtle button on the cart’s handlebar. Both the handlebar and the cart’s four walls retract down. “There has been a steady increase in Maverickism involving illegally acquired firearms, custom upgrades, and construction swaps. We questioned him where he got his parts from, but he was uncooperative.”

Which ultimately doesn’t matter. Although it’s a hassle for the Hunters’ personnel to upgrade the medbay equipment to match the newer model lines’ compatibilities, a request has been sent out to UtiUni to receive a copy of theirs.

“He’s supposed to be offlined with the memory chips in possession,” X explains as he opens the recharge tube, pulling the sleeping reploid out. “I’ll make the paperwork of possession soon, but I rather that doesn’t stay as a lie for too long. I’m breaking so many rules right now.”  

Soon the Hunters will have the proper means for intelligence extraction.

“You wouldn’t be if you just tell others what’s going on, X.” Dr. Cain sighs. “How long are you going to keep the virus as a secret?”

X says nothing, continuing to position Trigger on an examination table.

“You’re aware that once I have a proper team put together, I have to tell them exactly what they’re looking for. You can’t tell a pack of dogs to go fetch a ball they don’t know exists,” continues the roboticist. “They’ll sign the NDA. Lord knows if that’s really going to do anything, but you know this isn’t something that can be kept hidden for too long. This will come out.”

“We may have to scrap that plan," X grimaces. "It's one thing if I'm breaking the law. It's another involving others into it. I already feel guilty having you be a part of this.”

"I'm approaching my mid seventies," snorts Dr. Cain. "I've got nothing to fear and everything to atone. Prison is the least of my worries."

"Either way, we need to keep this to ourselves. There's no sugarcoating this: I am essentially abducting violent Mavericks sentenced to termination." 

The Mega Man looks down at Trigger. Without the garish neon color paintjob he had before, the Maverick is in his old soothing green colors that’s not helping sooth X at all.

The Mega Man chuckles weakly. "Technically, what I'm committing is Maverickism. But I rather face the consequences  _after_ we pass a specific stage in the research. We need to understand what we’re dealing here before we tell anyone. If we can find out how the Virus infects a reploid, we can figure out the preventive measures and the Hunters will have a plan. Without that, everyone is going to be scared of each other without knowing what to do.” Or worse, cause a mass panic. Doppler was clever; he prevented a witch-hunt by presenting what appeared like a solution after introducing a horrifying concept.

X shuts his eyes as if that'll also block out the devastating imagery his constantly overworking imagination provides him. He exvents twice. Slowly.

“By the way, how are you feeling, doctor?” the robot smoothly inquires, viridian eyes darting at the man’s wheelchair. It seems that every time X sees it the chair gains another apparatus. 

The elderly scientist waves X’s concern off. “I’m fine. I actually don’t need any of these. They’re labeled as enhancements but they’re treated more like daily vitamin supplements.”

X smiles. “At least the medical field is thriving.”

Dr. Cain snorts. “Tell me about it. Have you seen the news lately? Eurasia has pushed the bill for deeper cybernetics study up higher now. It’s being subject to judicial review and I’m predicting that this time it’ll pass.”

“Humans will be able to last in space longer,” X murmurs.

Dr. Cain leans back into his seat. “And humans will be able to live longer. Again. Not sure why anyone wants to live longer though.” With an overly exaggerated sigh, the man cheekily grins, he says, “Old age is already a pain in the ass. Promise me you’ll never grow old, X.”

Mood slightly improved, X rolls his eyes fondly. “I promise.”

X receives the familiar ring of Hunter Base sending a transmission. His hand reflexively goes to his helmet, a universal gesture of being occupies with a call.

“I’m being call out from off-duty,” X remarks. “I’m needed elsewhere.”

He’s  _always_ needed.

Dr. Cain makes a “go go” hand gesture. “You know the drill. You bring in the Mavericks, and I’ll do a couple scans and see what’s going on. You won’t be able to get anymore Mavericks if you lose your job as a Hunter.”

X opens his mouth, closes it, then nods, slightly reluctant. He glances down at Trigger again.

_Trigger is meant to be terminated. He’s already dead. We’re not going to have many chances to thoroughly examine a reploid like this. We need to take full advantage while we can._

Trigger is a reploid. He’s a person.

_He’s ceased all right to be treated as a person the moment he opened fire at innocent people._

What if he’s sick?

_That’s all the more reason to know why. Dr. Cain is soft. He’s been careful with reploids ever since Sigma. Can he really be trusted to do what it takes?_

Humans raise animals to be slaughtered and eaten. Does that justify them to treat animals brutally?

_A question: does it matter how they are treated when their fates are decided? Go back and say no. Keep Trigger preserved. Send the human away and spare him from the messiness and do it yourself. You know what needs to be done._

_“You’re a good person and you care about other people, X,"_  Zero says in the Azure Hunter's processor, voice ringing clear and true. " _You’re worth believing in.”_

X stiffly turns heel towards the exit, making sure he hides his expression from the scientist as he leaves.


	4. Chapter 4

As always, X brings in the latest detained Maverick through the back entrance of Cain Labs an hour after all the employees have left for home. As always, his postal mech disguise sheds for his iconic armor right before the security systems can examine him and blare the sirens for unauthorized personnel. And as always, he wheels in his smuggled reploid, an unconscious, partially damaged thing underneath layers of miscellaneous closed yet empty boxes, straight to a specific lab space reserved for him and his project.

Dr. Cain, who comes into sight as soon as X opens the door, arms crossed with an air of consternation, is a break from the pattern. His entire form manages to scream “I am SO disappointed in you” despite sitting in a wheelchair relying on enhancements to prolong his fragile life.

If X isn’t so tired, maybe he would squirm. Instead, he greets a tired,” Good evening,” before ghosting pass him.

X can feel grey eyes boring daggers onto his back. “Have you been sleeping?” the bearded man accuses behind him.

“My solar fuels are at least seventy percent and I had an e-tank earlier,” X manages to answer smoothly with a clear voice. He begins digging for Tershi, blissfully ignorant of everything ever, from the bottom of his cart.  

“That’s not an answer.”

“I’m fine.” Despite his processor feeling like it’s going to overload any second. “Besides, no rest for the wicked. No rest for the weary.”

“If my back didn’t feel like it’s going to give out, I’d shove you into a recharge tube myself,” Dr. Cain grumbles. “Go sleep or else I’m calling in the security drones – no, they can’t stop you. Zero knows about this now, doesn’t he? I’ll call him.”

X shoots a glare. Or tries to. Oh fritz, he’s too tired for this. “Zero is on night shift. He won’t leave work to babysit me and by the time his shift ends, it’ll be _my_ shift and he won’t stop me from going on patrol.”

Actually if the warbot really wants to, he can. Not that the Azure Hunter would make it easy.

“Oh Lord - you’re obsessed, X!”

“I’m not obsessed,” X argues as he walks behind a monitor, squinting as the information flies line by line onto the screen. “I’m managing. I’ve got patrols with my Unit during the day, listen into the calls before the PSAP forwards them and detain Mavericks in the hours between the end of my shift and when the lab is closed, do background investigations of said Mavericks, and repeat. If I’m not careful, I risk being compromised. I _need_ to stay consistent.”

“You _need_ sleep,” is the snappy retort.

“With what time?” X sighs wearily, gathering the black and white, waiter civiloid into his arms. “I am one hundred percent confident that Sigma and Doppler were infected. Both were able to accumulate armies so quickly. Although we don’t know how many of those reploids were voluntary or involuntary Mavericks, viruses by nature are contagious. There can be so many reploids getting infected as we speak. There’s too much work and so little time.”

 _It’s only so much work because you’re doing this the inefficient way,_ whispers a part of him.

The ethical way.

_It’d be so much faster if you opened them up._

These Mavericks are still reploids and reploids are people.

_That so-called person was strangling a human child when you entered the diner. How long are you going to fight yourself over the easiest solution? Bring him online._

As soon as X finishes transferring Tershi onto the nearby wheel bed, he calmly walks to the nearest wall and slams his helmet against it, a resounding metallic echo. Dr. Cain’s mouth clamps shut.

“I have to do this. I’m immune. Can’t risk having another reploid help me. Can’t have anyone I don’t completely trust be a part of this,“ X rambles, his mental filters weak. “Can’t risk having an information leak. Already hard enough to hide all of this from everyone else who works here.”

X’s imagination is powerful. Too powerful. He can see how the fear of the unknown will ruin so many lives so easily. Humans turning against reploids. Reploids turning against each other. The paranoia. Dissolving trust. Witch hunts. Mass persecution and increased oppression.   

It takes the creaky rattling of Dr. Cain’s wheelchair to have X twist his head to the side to look behind him.

“Fine. I get it.” The doctor rubs his temples. “You’re thinking the worst case scenario this entire time. But this isn’t sustainable.”

Oh, did X say all of that out loud? He didn’t mean to.

“Yes,” the doctor’s exasperated voice responds. “Yes, you did.”

Oh he did. And he said too. Hmm.

“This is ridiculous. If you have that little awareness and control over your own communication, you can’t work like this, less alone be precise.”

That makes sense. The human has a point.

Has a…

 

* * *

 

There is a common experience that humans - from cramming high school students to insomniac scientists on a thesis deadline to lonely trench soldiers staring at the heavens for falling fire - do share.

To be so tired, so deeply submerged in an all-consuming fatigue, that the body believes that its owner is in grave danger to be pushed to the very edge at all. As a result, exhaustion is traded for a burst of hyperactivity, a second wind to further push the body’s limits for the sake of survival.

Then it crashes.

X, though not human, must have something similar. Somewhere deep within his subroutines there are lines of code activated to enter emergency mode if he’s delaying recharge too many times. His body comes to the conclusion that it is in danger and responds appropriately.  

That is the only explanation Dr. Cain can think of as he calls out “X?” when the android doesn’t respond, suddenly transforming his right arm into his trademark buster. It squeals the familiar high pitch sound of being charged until it flattens into a silent whine. It doesn’t release.

Dr. Light’s final legacy surveys the lab, takes a couple steady steps in every direction with his weapon raised high. X looks at the elderly human seemingly without recognition and dismisses him. His buster poises over the lying Maverick for a long second.

Dr. Cain holds his breath.

Then the green light from the buster fades to yellow then to nothing.

The Mega Man drops his arms to his side and freezes in place. A metal statue.  

After five minutes of not moving just in case, Dr. Cain shakily reaches for the tablet in his coat pocket, informs Maverick Hunters Headquarters that X is going to recharge at Cain Labs after a buster malfunction check-up, and hangs up.

Eleven hours later, X jolts out of his inconvenient slumber in wide-eye (but still very much tired) shock and splutters ten different variations of “I’m so sorry for falling asleep on you – smelt me, I can’t believe I slept into my shift…”

He doesn’t remember what he did. Dr. Cain doesn’t tell him. A sensitive over-thinker like X doesn’t need to consider the implications that between flight versus fight, he automatically turns to fight. Retrospectively, the bearded man is glad he didn’t call in the Red Ripper.   

Belying his unease, the elderly man throws him an unimpressed glare and deadpans,” If you’re really sorry, promise to recharge properly from now on. I’m too old to move you and wheeling around you was a hassle.” It really was. “Also, I can’t cover you like this always. What if you fall asleep and I’m not there to catch it?”

X opens his mouth, closes it, then nods glumly.

“X, I thought hard about what you told me,” the man sighs. “And I agree. We don’t have time or people on our side. I’ve been working on something for a while and…I think it can help you. Soon you won’t need to do this by yourself.”

The Blue Bomber blinks. “Like what?”

 

* * *

 

“X, this is Signas,” grunts Dr. Cain, stretching his back in his seat with an audible crack. “Signas, X.”

X’s eyes sharpen, perusing the newly-activated. Said newly-activated is standing statue-stiff in the center of the lab. The only signs that the young reploid is online are the assessing navy eyes and the subtle tilt of the head at the Blue Bomber’s earlier entrance.

X dives into his CPU and comes back up with some understanding. “As in Cygnus? He’s named after the constellation?”

Dr. Cain opts to sip his coffee instead of answering. So that’s a yes.

The Father of All Reploids walks around Signas slowly, examining. The child is tall, but not intimidatingly so. Just enough that it forces most people to raise their chin to meet his gaze.

_Someone to literally look up to._

“Federal law enforcement colors,” X says, noting the deep Prussian blues and golden accents. “You even constructed his hat to look like the uniform’s. He can slot into the Maverick Hunters and wouldn’t look out of place.”

Boxy undecorated pauldrons and a white belt with rectangular pockets the size of miniature data pads. Besides those two features and his helm, the reploid’s design is simple. Plain. He can pass as a civiloid with very little customization as well.

Then the android frowns. “But the armor appears mostly ornamental? The material doesn’t seem like it’ll hold up well in combat.”

“I am not a combat reploid,” the reploid answers in a clear, deep voice. Effective for commanding attention and respect. “Therefore, battle-orientated parts are not necessary. I was designed to appear as a figure of authority for investigation ease.”

X grins abashedly. “I’m sorry for talking around you like that. That was rude of me.”

The child’s eyes narrow in confusion. “Rude…?”

“So you haven’t grasped those concepts yet,” the blue android hums thoughtfully. “I’m going to take a guess. Online for five days?”

“Eleven actually,” responds Dr. Cain, setting his mug in the cup holder of his wheelchair. “I’m not following the standards with him. He’s meant to be a logician so I’ve modified his education. The humanities can come later.”

“Yet he’s named Cygnus.” A very poetic name for a reploid shaping up to be someone who isn’t meant to be engaged in the arts, and Dr. Cain doesn’t choose names lightly. X glances at the elderly human questioningly but the man is staying stubbornly silent about it.

“It is my understanding that by saying my name in that tone, you believe that there is a significance between my design and the history behind the name,” the tall reploid answers. “However, the name is simply a label. My designation is spelled out as S, I, G, N, A, S. It may act as a homophone to Cygnus, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“That’s how it’s spelled? Signas?” X says with feigned nonchalance, body determinedly facing forward Signas while subtly glancing towards the only human in the room. “That’s awfully similar to Sigma.”

If he wasn’t trying to catch it, X would have missed Dr. Cain flinching. There it is.

Signas’ eyes take on a considering appearance. “The spelling of the first syllable matches. Yes, I can see the similarity. That makes sense.”

“Anyways,” Dr. Cain coughs, making offhanded gestures with his hand. “It won’t be long until Signas goes out into the field. He’s got the sharpest RAM, the most precise CPU, tons of memory – yadda yadda, his job is to be a private investigator. It won’t be against the Commander’s orders if you’ve got someone outside of the Hunters doing the leg work. Now you can finally sleep at night.”

X throws him a half-hearted glare. Dr. Cain throws one of his own back.  

“Also I’ve been passing everything we’ve got on the Virus to him; we’ll help you with the research, but more him than I. The least I can do is provide the diagnostics for the Mavericks you bring in.” Grimacing, the bearded man strokes his beard, a quirk X recognizes stems from anxiety. “Major changes are happening in Abel City and I’ve been pulled into it.”

Well that sounds foreboding. “What’s going on?”

“Got called in for a Council-funded project. On paper I’m a contractor, but I’m going to be sticking my neck really deep in it. It involves your coding after all.”

X raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Dr. Cain pinches his nose bridge. “Technically all of this is supposed to be very hush-hush, but god knows I can give less a damn about it. You’ve heard of Repliforce?”

“Not much. The Council has revealed very little about it,” replies the Azure Hunter. “From what I understand, it’s essentially an expanded Maverick Hunters organization that’s not limited to Abel City’s geographical limits. Their numbers will be sent to any other cities that are utilizing reploid technology?” 

“Correct. Repliforce is going to be completely manned by whole new lines of specific, combat reploids. I’d call it the Maverick Hunters 2.0 except it’s structured like the military and its under strict supervision by the Council.”

“’Structured like the military?”’ the Blue Bomber repeats. frowning. “What do you mean by that?”

“One of the custom reploids they’re preparing to make is General, X,” Dr. Cain says finally. “And his designation is literally ‘General.’ His title is his name.”

X clamps up, realization dawning like a slowly growing torrent that starts in his core and waterfalls down, drowning his circuits, trapped in the husk called his armor like a sinking ship.

“Not just structured as a military. It _is_ a military,” the Father of All Reploids whispers in horror, viridian eyes staring into the distance. His overworking imagination is presenting him a thousand disastrous scenarios harsh enough to crash any other sentient robot’s processor. “A _General_. We’re looking at least tens of thousands of combatdroids. _Soldiers._ ”

His head snaps up, expression wild. “Why make a military now? Maverick activity has hit another valley – the timing doesn’t make any sense! Is this a precaution for another war? Did I misjudge the current social climate? Are we really that afraid?”

Dr. Cain drags his weary gaze towards the third quiet member in the room. “Signas, you’ve provided some thoughts on this before. Share them with X.”

Signas, who has been observing the distressed X with curiosity, nods. “The Council states that Repliforce’s primary motivation is to combat against Maverickism, but that did not make sense to me. The Maverick Hunters organization already exists. If that was the case, then it would simply make more sense to increase the budget for the Hunters and add more to their numbers. I have considered the notion that the Council does not want the Hunters to be as powerful as they were before in case there’s a repeat of the First War. However, there’s an easier solution to that, which would be to split the Hunters into multiple factions. The resulting increased competition would have been a boon. Yet that is not the case.”

“Then there’s another reason for Repliforce to be made,” X says, pained.

“Yes,” the tall reploid agrees. “Besides combatting Maverickism, there are seven major theories I have discovered, but the theory that holds the most prominence is that Repliforce may be utilized to secure key resources around the globe. Abel City is the number one leading technological center and the most resource intensive city-state in the world despite major internal conflicts. In the past couple of decades, energen prices have jumped drastically as local mines are becoming increasingly depleted and trade deals with energen-rich nations have not gone through. This does not bode well for the continued maintenance of Abel City as a powerhouse in the international community.”

“A war for resources,” X pushes through gritted teeth. “Last century it was oil. This time it’s energen.”

 _At least there won’t be much of an outrage sending men and women to fight these battles,_ whispers a shadowy voice from the back of the android’s processor. _No need to send bad news to broken families since reploids don’t have any. It’s effective preparation. Less tears for everyone._

“There is some hope out of this mess,” quips Dr. Cain with a lighter tone that X knows is forced. “Nobody wants another Rebellion on their hands again, hence I’m joining Project Alpha. Repliforce wants to make another you. That’s their security to keep Repliforce in check.”

_Because everyone knows they can trust you to never turn Maverick. No surprise they want to create a copy you._

“Is that even possible?” manages X. “Till this day, we still don’t completely understand how my body works.”

_And whose fault is that: the world’s for not understanding Dr. Light’s genius, or yours for preventing it?_

“It’s not going to stop them from trying,” the old roboticist sighs. “The least I can do is conduct damage control if anything goes catastrophically wrong. Otherwise, this is beyond us.”

Dr. Cain isn’t wrong. So there’s going to be a reploid military - what the fritz is X supposed to do about it? He doesn’t have any power.

_Don’t be stupid. Mega Man X, the First Android, not having any power? Your existence alone revolutionized the world. Why else did Sigma wanted you so much?_

Which is all the more important that X doesn’t do anything hastily. He feels like a giant, sitting as tightly as possible within the space of a drawn circle on a ground that he carved for himself, and his neighbors are all these tiny villages. If he makes a mistake, like taking a deep breath and aim it the wrong direction, he blows out a storm and there goes the local population.

_Don’t you get tired that the world isn’t the way it’s supposed to be? You want humans and reploids to coexist peacefully and a full reploid military is a step backwards for fritz’s sake._

_Maybe a storm is exactly what everyone needs._

It takes enormous self-discipline not to physically bash his head against a wall. These intrusive thoughts are growing out of control, bordering on ridiculous. At this point X is less stunned and more irked at his own traitorous mind.

Despite the gnawing black hole that is taking up residence in place of his core, X isn’t going to do anything about this “Repliforce.” He does anything about it now, he puts Dr. Cain on the spot for knowing too much about it, and hopefully – _hopefully_ Signas’ theory is not the right one (despite how much it makes sense). It’s still a theory and, as far as X is concerned, the last time he checked there’s more than plenty of energen to last for the next century or so.

Not to mention everything, including Repliforce and the consequences of its existence, is ultimately secondary compare to his foremost priority.

Speaking of which.

Redirecting his attention to the reploid next to him, X requests, “Signas, may I have your communication sequence please? I would like to correspond with you more frequently from now on in regards of the Virus.”

“It’s 20-201-130,” Dr. Cain answers for the tall reploid. Then to Signas the man orders with a noticeably colder tone,” From now on you report to X. If X asks you for anything, you do it. If you’re experiencing protocol conflict, you go to X to resolve it.”

Unperturbed, Signas dutifully nods.

“Now go. It’s approaching your recharge hour.”

“Understood. Good night, Dr. Cain.”

As X watches the child leave, he says,” Are you sure he’ll be up to the task? Logic and a steady processor are important qualities for investigation, but people skills are also critical.”

“Like I said, the humanities are coming. I wanted to test how effective his analytical skills as soon as possible.”

The blue android falls silent. Slowly, he says,” You know, it’s not predetermined that he’ll become like Sigma.”

Practically dragging his grey eyes to meet X’s, the doctor grumbles warily, ”What are you on about now?”

“You like newly-activated reploids. You see them the same way as I do yet you’re keeping Signas at an arm’s distance. It’s not like you,” X remarks gently. “We haven’t figured out how the Virus is spreading. I can tell he’s not a modified reploid from an existing line. He’s entirely yours, isn’t he? It’s okay to love your son. I know that’s how you see him.”

“X, I know you mean well, but please. Don’t.”

The android winces. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep my boundaries.”

Another heavy sigh. “You’re fine. It’s just…can you promise me one thing?“

Whatever face that X makes, it has the good doctor snickering, though the effect is somewhat muted by the quiet, weak rasping crawling underneath, like rustling dry leaves. “Don’t get into another one of your worry spirals. It’s nothing ominous. All I’m asking is for you to take care of Signas when I can’t.”

Well that’s not too bad.

X smiles. “Of course. You don’t even need to ask for that. I won’t make him do anything I won’t.” Even before the Commander put a halt on X’s investigations, the Seventeenth Unit Leader didn’t assign any work to his company that was too dejecting in case morale falls. 

His smile drops when Dr. Cain shakes his head. The human rubs the back of his neck, the bunched, drooping flesh rolling with his skeletal fingers. “No, I want you to _take care_ of him. I mean that in every single way it can. Whether I go or he goes first. He’s my last one and I need that security.”

Oh.

 _So that’s where Cygnus came from,_ sparks in a new voice, deceptively flinty casual a step away from something burning. _Got plenty of meanings, but the most direct one is “swan.” Cain’s doing fairly decent for his age, but he’s still human._

Stop.

“I will,” X says at the face of the pending inevitable.

“Good.” The doctor leans back, snuggling in his seat like a bed. “Good.”

 

* * *

 

After Signas’ completes his fundamental learning period, X sends the young reploid a list of questions to attempt answering and a longer list of Mavericks whose backgrounds require further probing. As X continues to hunt as many violent Mavericks as he can - even sneak a couple to Cain Labs in which Dr. Cain performs basic diagnostics tests - Signas diligently collects and analyzes the resulting data, adding it to the ever growing compilation of research.

The Azure Hunter gets his proper recharging schedule back.

Every three days X visits Cain Labs to check on the research progress and Signas’ personal development (since Dr. Cain has been in other labs more than his own nowadays). Between visits, both robots only contact each other to help the other in their respective work.

 _“Hello X,”_ the reploid abruptly announces into X’s comm channel just as he returns from a patrol. “ _I need your assistance again. Do you have the time?”_

The Elite Unit Leader holds up a hand to his temple, visibly announcing to his squad members that he’s taking a call and “no, can’t join them at the canteen, sorry,” before seeking a quiet spot in the loading deck to properly respond.

“I do now. What’s going on, Signas?”

Instantly X receives a folder. Within he finds a series of photos ripped from security camera footage, a high number of which containing reploids in Hunter-issued armor and mods. Some are circled in red.

_“These images were taken during Maverick-induced crime scenes for the past week. I’m developing a theory, but require further confirmation. If you can tell me who these reploids are that would aid me immensely.”_

“Why these reploids?”

A pause. _“You may ask why, but I will not answer it. It is a concern that I may color your view and risk having tainted data if I accidentally mar your perception. I apologize.”_

“Thank you for your honesty,” X smiles though no one can see it. “I trust you that you know what you’re doing. What information do you need?”

_“Everything if you can. However, I am aware that is already a monumental task. At the very least please send me these reploids’ medical profiles. If the Hunters also keep previous versions of those profiles, please forward those to me as well.”_

“I’ll do what I can.”

_“Thank you.”_

Seems Signas is improving his sense of etiquette. Children grow so fast.

Overall, the research progresses steadily at a pace faster than when X was working with his own Unit considering he had to walk his squad members through them; more often than not, he experienced setbacks since they didn’t know how to properly ask questions to victims. Not that Signas didn’t experience difficulty when he first started interviewing.

_“X, this woman started crying when I asked her if the Maverick was next to the waitress before or after he killed her dog.”_

Second-hand embarrassment forces X to temporarily disconnect from the communication channel and groan,” Noooo,” into the air. He’s having flashbacks with Zero. The major difference is that the young reploid actually sounds remorseful where the warbot would be the emotional equivalent of a stonewall. It’s one of the numerous reasons X hasn’t involved the Zeroth Unit Leader too deeply into this.    

“ _X, are you still there?”_ The analyst’s voice, usually calm and neutral, is tight – which is a positive sign that brings X some measure of comfort. _“This is important. Do I pat her back? I heard humans respond well to back patting, but some are repelled by contact. How do I know when to use it?”_ Then more quietly. _“Please help.”_

At least Signas is exhibiting improvement in sympathizing and socializing. Dr. Cain was not bragging when he said that Signas has a powerful processor; the detective reploid is a quick study and trustworthy. There hasn’t been a leak, which X is enormously grateful for.

He’s been lying so much he can feel them clogging his vocal unit, strangling him. Having one more person to be honest to helps him breathe a little easier. The downside is that it’s almost strictly professional and using a child reploid as an emotion bounce board isn’t “taking care of him.”

But that’s okay. He has someone else to rely on.

 

* * *

 

Winter hasn’t quite sunk its claws completely to the city-state. Instead it hovers above it patiently, a looming presence inviting frost over dew. At five in a weekday morning, Abel City’s Century Park is still a dark, empty center with only streetlights to redeem it.  

X walks towards one of many empty benches littered around and takes a seat.

He waits.

“No bread?” asks a familiar voice behind him.

X chuckles without turning around. “None of the local bakeries would be open around this time. Besides, we barely see each other and I don't want to risk losing a second.”  

Zero walks around to the front but doesn’t join X’s side on the bench. X pats the empty space encouragingly but the Zeroth Unit Leader refuses. ”Sitting is disadvantageous during combat. I can react faster to ambushes standing.”

“You just came back from patrol. You’re allowed to relax.”

“You’re not relaxed either,” Zero shoots back with knowing eyes.  

X opens his mouth, closes it, and looks straight in front of him away from Zero. On a browning patch of grass and ice, a flock of pigeons, grey like thin gravestones, huddle together until they become one fluffy mass.  

“No, I’m not,” the Blue Bomber admits wryly. “I don’t think I can fully turn off combat mode anymore. Even now I find myself checking in the PSAP channel and I don’t have to go for another thirty minutes.” X leans back until his head hangs over the edge of the bench support. Green eyes zone towards the moon, a white sliver between dusty clouds.

“I’ve been fighting for so long, but how much more do I have to do this? Can I even live as a normal person anymore?” 

“…Between the two of us, you’re more likely to answer that than me.”

“I haven’t seen you for a long time and I’m already whining to you. Sorry about that.” X shakes his head, smiling deprecatingly. He feels something slide on the side of his face and reaches up instinctively. “Smelt me. This is…I’m definitely not at my best.”

“That’s fine.”

X glances at his former mentor questioningly through watery green eyes. “That’s not what you said when I was a rookie.”

The Zeroth Unit Leader is silent for a moment. Then, “Personally I don’t have the function, but from what I’ve observed, crying isn’t useful. It blurs your vision, convulses your ventilations, and it reveals weakness. It has no place in combat. If I were your enemy, I would not find a more favorable position to attack you than this state.”

The warbot turns his gaze away, watching for something X can’t see. “But I’m your friend and I’m standing guard. You can do whatever you like.”

Bolts, it should be illegal to be that cool.

Even though Zero has given him “permission,” X still rubs his face aggressively because really? He hasn’t seen his friend forever and he’s going to spend his time crying?

He grins through his partially wiped tears. “Thanks Zero. Honestly though, I’m in no position to complain or cry. Things are fine. The research is going well and there’s Signas who's been an immense help so far. Overall the Virus research is…progressing.”

Zero hums. “You don’t seem satisfied.”

“I may be getting a little impatient. I just want to do _everything_ , but I’m only one person.”

“X, you can split yourself, make four more versions of you, and you still wouldn’t be able to do everything,” Zero says a touched exasperated. Then he tilts his head, wistfully musing, “But at least there would be a you who could be at Hunter Base more. I’d like that.”

X deflates. He knows the warbot said that out of total innocence, which arguably makes it more worse than a passive-aggressive jab. He might as well have “World’s Worst Best Friend” label stamped on his forehead.

“Everything has to end eventually, including this project,” X says, voice bleeding a bit more optimism than before. “Eventually we’re going to learn more about this Virus and find a cure for it. Then the number of Maverickism will go down and we won’t have these awful shifts anymore. I know we can handle it but…” X harrumphs. “If it were anyone else, it’d be unreasonable.” The responsibility of being a Unit Leader.  

Zero’s eyes glint. “Is there a way to make it go faster? What are you doing?”

“Asides from patrol and missions, I’ve been detaining Mavericks in secret. Cain Labs is doing everything else.”

“…X, if you need more Mavericks, I can use my Unit to detain some for you.”

The Azure Hunter shakes his head. “The Commander has already accused me of abusing my authority and he...wasn’t entirely wrong. I was getting ahead of myself. I don’t want you to start doing the same.”

“Technically the Commander banned you from utilizing nonlethal takedowns. He hasn’t ordered _me.”_

“Which is why if you start doing the same, he’ll figure out what’s going on and put two and two together,” X points out. “Even if you personally detain Mavericks between shifts, you’re - ”

X gestures vaguely at the combatdroid’s everything, lips quirking. “Recognizable. I have the Variable Tool System to disguise myself anytime I need to. Someone could take a low quality, blurry photo of you and anyone would know that hair.”

Zero frowns, but he doesn’t deny it.

X sobers. “It’s best if I don’t involve you too deeply into this. The Hunters more than any other organization requires trust to function at minimum. We can’t have the Commander losing trust in both of us. The consequences will be severe.”

The Crimson Hunter crosses his arms, looking down at the space in front of his feet, contemplative.

“I’m aware. The Hunters don’t have a clean record anymore. We can be acting on good intentions and it wouldn't matter if it seems that both the Zeroth and the Seventeenth are going against higher command. We can expect internal turmoil. Worst case scenario, the Hunters will split apart between following you or following the Commander. It’s not outside the realm of possibility.”

Zero’s eyes meet with X’s. Twin ice blades so intense that X feels his wires crawling up his neck.

“But if aiding you means going against command then so be it. It wouldn’t be the first time,” the Red Ripper declares, clearly referring to the Rebellion. 

“There’s no need to go that far,” X manages weakly through mixed emotions. “I should be fine for now. Let’s not cause any waves within the Hunters. It’s crucial for it to stay stable.”

Despite everything, the Maverick Hunters is a symbol of human-reploid relations and peace.

“I know. But just in case anything like the First War happens again, you know whose side I’ll always be on.”

_Yours because you’re righteous._

_Yours because you’re strong._

_Yours because you’re home._

_Yours because you’re safe._

For the first time since X met him, Zero smirks. “Now your combat mode is disengaged.”

The Mega Man blinks, checks himself, and goes,” Oh. It is.” His EAS and buster are no longer occupying first-response priority, his vents have grown quieter, and his core isn’t so wired.

He feels…relaxed. He feels pretty good.

Then as if the universe pulled a giant rubber band and released it, his internal notifications chirp uncaringly and X twitches.

He really can’t have a minute, can he.

Zero raises an eyebrow beneath his crimson helmet, asking silently.

Deflating, X rubs the back of his neck as if that’ll also rub his tension away. “I just received details for today’s mission. Apparently Cain Labs sensed an immense energy spike somewhere down at the mountains…oh, wow.” He frowns. “Got the satellite photos. That’s concerning.”

“It’s about time for us to return to HQ anyway,” Zero comments, stepping back as X stands up.

“Yeah.”

X smiles.

“Let’s go. Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who's reading "One Petal Stayed" would recognize what's happening at the end of this chapter.  
> Both stories are sorta-kinda-companion fics to each other during the events that lead up to...something specific.  
> There's a reason.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know how this series end. Everything has to hurt before it gets remotely better.  
> Knowing that doesn't help sometimes (sigh).

It starts out normal enough.

Same routine: X enters from the back long after the employees have left for home, a lonely pair of footsteps marching briskly towards the third to last office in the administration wing.

Considering the multiple attempts of assault during the previous years (which has risen considerably after the Rebellion), Cain Labs justifiably has layers and layers of safety measures to the point that visitors have to be full-bodily scanned at every individual door inside the building.

However, X is one of a handful of visitors with the authorization to freely float everywhere within the compound (because the Azure Hunter himself is also a trusted safety measure). Still, he knocks politely at Signas’ office. The automatic security systems dress X with a scrutinizing red light from head to toe, beeps green in happy recognition, and graciously presents a mic.

“Hello Signas,” he greets.

Like a password, the door slides open at that.

In all of X’s previous visits, Signas has kept everything neat and orderly; every folder and data pad had their specific place in the rows of file cabinets sitting alongside one wall. Huge monitor screens installed in the shallow enclaves snugly, their protruding wires taped down in neat vertical colored lines, and Signas’ desk was a perfect picture of organized chaos.

This time it looks like someone brought in a printer and an office storage drone, smacked both of them and both machines projectile vomited their contents everywhere.

“Hello X,” says Signas without looking up, hunched devotedly over his desk.

Softly, X comments, “Seems Dr. Cain isn’t here.” Again.

“His feet swelled. He returned home early to rest properly.” Signas places what X recognizes a stack of reploid diagrams at the center. “Forgive the mess. I want to present you several connections that I’ve found. However, I would like to go over my findings with you to make sure that I am not missing anything.”

“Of course. I take it these are the sonograms?” X approaches the desk from the other side.

“For a specific kind of violent Maverick.” Signas points at the first paper of the pile. “Carmine: graphics technician. Coworkers mention that she had a bubbly yet focused personality. She was in an oil bar brawl and received a right hook to the processor meant for another reploid, but did not suffer any lasting damage. However, she was making mistakes and would accidentally break the props repeatedly. This can possibly attribute her increasingly negative mood. However…”

Signas replaces the first scan with the next one. “Saul: library page for the same library he burned down. His personality was always quiet, but the head librarian says that Saul at least very expressive. Within a month’s time until the arson, he stopped expressing emotions altogether and body movements were rigid and mechanical. She quote: ‘he was more a mech than a reploid.’”   

Another one. “Barnaclaw, a locksmith. Used his clients’ information to break into their houses and murdered them in their sleep. His manager says that Barnaclaw started behaving coldly towards, strangely human customers since held gunpoint during a robbery instigated by Mavericks. On the other hand, Barnaclaw was becoming more and more effective in creating hardware, mostly stemming from abnormal amounts of strength even though his parts never changed.”

“This one’s Decker,” X recognizes when Signas brings out the fourth. The construction worker.

“He also became more outgoing and belligerent. He kept on using extra strength than was necessary. His situation echoes Carmine’s except their personality changes are flipped.”

X frowns. Gingerly he pulls two schematics closer to himself. “The suffering circuits on Barnaclaw and Decker...”

“I have an inquiry for that. Those two and a couple others do have partially worn down suffering circuits. From what I know, that should influence their capacity to feel sympathy towards others but does it also greatly impact their personalities?”

“It can, but not to such a degree as what you told me,” answers the roboticist in X. “Also, the other ones have exhibited personality changes without a damaged suffering circuit. Generally if one part of the reploid is broken, it’s extremely self-contained unless it’s something like a vent.”

Signas tilts his head. “A vent?”

“An example: let’s say your vents accumulated too much dirt; the debris can clog your fans and heatsinks, affecting your performance. Too much and not only would you start overheating, the dust can spread to your other components and make them come loose.”

As X flips through the sonograms. “But none of these scans show anything like that.” He frowns. “In fact, most of these Mavericks don’t have any damage to their power distributors, motor control node, severe limb rust or wear, or any other internal physical abnormality that would give cause to the mistakes they make.”

“It’s not just those four I told you about,” offers Signas as he brings out a data pad. “There are others such as Lottie, March, Clive, Moxie, and Beryl whose stories follow a similar trend: a reploid is involved with a violent encounter, their condition deteriorates, then becomes violent in turn. Maverick. If this is the Virus at work, we can be potentially looking at a linear method of infection.”  

“...Correlation does not imply causation,” X reminds calmly over his own agitated core. “There’s too many factors that can attribute to these developments. Some of these can be purely psychological. The fight they get involved it can be chalked up as a traumatic event.”

“I agree,” Signas replies without a beat. “You can only claim causation if one of the correlated variables can be controlled and the correlation persists. There is also the problem between distinguishing the voluntary Mavericks and the involuntary Mavericks. It is very possible that this is all pure coincidence.”

Except Signas doesn't seem to be entirely convinced of that notion and X can't blame him. 

It’s always known that some reploids turn Maverick because of damaged components but this time it does not entirely apply here.

 _So what if it’s not a coincidence after all?_ The Blue Bomber grounds his teeth. _What if there really is a connection here?_

“For the sake of review, please tell me all the patterns you’ve found including the ones you’ve told me,” commands X.

“An encounter with a violent reploid,” the investigator ticks off immediately. Clearly he has thought about this. ”Followed by physical changes include unexplained bouts of strength, lack of precision, and increased rigidity. Personality changes also occur though they are more variable asides from belligerence. What is consistent are attitudes towards certain subjects though they are too common to be seen as anything noteworthy.”

“Such as?”

“One is immense anxiety and paranoia towards the concept of being opened up.”

Very common. Even humans aren’t generally fond of seeing the dentist and that’s for their oral cavities alone.

“The second is open animosity towards humans, even wishing to commit violence against them.”

A bit more extreme yet that too is sadly not uncommon either. As anti-reploid sentiments rise among humans, so did anti-human sentiments.

The Azure Hunter shuts his eyes. Two Mavericks he is one hundred percent certain were victims to the Virus are Sigma and Doppler. How much do they fit the profile?

Most of these traits can apply to Sigma. He was a Maverick Hunter and had hundreds of deadly force encounters. Body-surfed so many times that it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that the incompatible parts deteriorated his psyche, and that’s the problem. There are other factors that can contribute to his degradation.

As for Doppler – well, everyone knows his story. His lab was raided by Mavericks in the Second War and his coworkers were slaughtered. He used that to lead everyone into believing that he was being genuine for seeking a remedy for Maverickism. How much of that was caused by the Virus? 

The Mega Man raises a hand to his temple, feeling a short circuit coming in.

“X?” calls Signas. His brows are furrowed, concerned.

“Sorry, I need some time alone to process all of this,” X murmurs. “Thank you for sharing all of this with me.” He swivels on his pedes, already walking towards the door. “I’ll contact you as soon as I make a decision.”

Uncertainty flashes across Signas’ face before defaulting to stoicism.

“Understood. Good bye, X.”  

X doesn’t say anything back. He’s already gone.

 

* * *

 

“-and their equipment is so new and fancy. Did you see their mettaurs?”

“I did! They’re the latest, rusting D2 models – the ones with night vision. Who the smelt gives mettaurs night vision? Bolts, they got all the new toys.”

“So unfair. Why can’t we have our own? Do you know how much easier it’ll be for our Navigators if they got their own recon mechs instead of going through that authorization nonsense? What an oil spill.” 

Even in the canteen where it’s fairly full of people and activity and gossip, X can’t stop thinking about what Signas said. He hoped being in a crowded room would help him take a mental step back. Toss everything in the back storage and revisit when he’s more grounded.

_You can detain as many Mavericks and perform all the noninvasive tests as you like and it won’t give you confirmation. Do you care more about your people or your comfort?_

Except his ruthless mind won’t leave him alone.

If he really wants to get out of his own head, he should switch off the Variable Tool System. Stop wearing the C-Rank Hunter uniform colors and stop isolating himself at the bar, its elongated existence a loud, “DON’T DISTURB.” Stop keeping his back to the rest of the world and just rusting join it.

At least people-watch properly instead of letting the closest conversation behind him flow from one aural port to the other. Otherwise what is he even doing here.

X still doesn’t move.

 _Virus schmirus, what-fritzing-ever – there’s always some crude to fling. Humans have always fought among themselves and reploids are no smelting different. The world is more than happy to burn itself a thousand times. What matters is_ you’re  _doing the burning because at least you’re pointing the buster at the right direction._

“-and get this, one of them  _yelled_ at me because I wasn’t saluting to their commanding officer when we were done training. I don’t even work there!”

“Rust, yeah they get nitpicky over every little wire. Probably because they’re all newly-activated. Did you hear about that new Navigator who yelled at her own Unit? She was one of theirs.” 

“Smelt me, I wasn’t that intense when I got activated.”

“You probably were. You get rubbed acid on everything.”

“Shut up!”

Laughter.    

“Yeah, Repliforce’s got some weird bots.”

X flinches. The robot soldier army. His imagination catapults him into a world where reploid violence is commonplace, of black acrid airs and torn earth, of the first war, the second war, the third war - and Abel City is a smoking, screaming body, the collapsing highways like capillaries that have given up, unable to carry the weight of its own life.

So many wars. Sigma is still out there. The next one is inevitable. It's just a matter of time.

_When it rains it pours. Tick tock, tick tock. Ha ha, it keeps on flooding. When are you going to stop caring?_

No. X refuses to be an agent of apathy. It may be easier on his heart, but it'll weaken it and his heart is his greatest feature. That's what everyone has told him: Dr. Cain, Sigma, and Zero - 

Zero.

Suddenly a thought strikes the android. It hits cold and deep, leaving the Blue Bomber near-paralyzed and he gasps.

The Blue Bomber calls Signas’ comm channel.

 _“X?”_  the detective reploid responds.

 _“You asked for those Hunters’ medical profiles because you suspected them of being infected,”_  X answers without greeting, barely holding back the accusation in his voice.

 _“Yes,”_  Signas admits plainly.  _“My application to enter the Maverick Hunters haven’t processed yet and I did not want to wait. I had to rely on your resources.”_

_“You’ve applied to join the Hunters?”_

_“For the sake of observing the suspected infected’s progression in person. They were Hunters involved with deadly force encounters. I want to see if their behavior will match the degradation patterns.”_

Ignorant that X is resisting the urge to scream at the other side of the sector area, Signas continues.

_“Compare to the civiloids, it’ll be easier to decrease the number of off variables in seeking correlations among the Hunters because they’re experienced in fighting. Therefore, there’s no need to factor in trauma. If there are significant changes in the profiles after each violent Maverick attack, timing matches and I will have a distinct correlation. I simply need to wait._

_“If this does apply, I may even have an estimate on how long it will take for an infected reploid to go Maverick.”_

_“Among the profiles you requested for, you asked for Zero’s,”_  X recalls.

 _“I did. It was strange. Zero’s profile wasn’t even fleshed out to begin with_ ,” Signas replies. X can envision the young reploid to be tilting his head, curious.

X surges. _“Zero was found during a mission. He’s a combat model with amnesia. He was never required to enter Medbay and has never been opened up. But if there’s any individual your theory doesn’t apply, it’ll be him. The ‘symptoms’ you’ve gathered – he’s exhibited none of it,’_ X says in a rush, directing his words to both Signas and himself because no. No.

_“Is he even a real reploid?”_

X is taken aback.  _“What?”_

_“His backgrounds are mysterious and whatever stories I’ve known of Zero, he only becomes stranger. Are you aware that it was Sigma who inducted Zero into the Hunters without having him undergo through any of the procedures?”_

_“He fought against Sigma with me,”_  X asserts, hackles rising despite him.  _“We’ve been together for three wars.”_

 _“I sense you are distressed. I apologize,”_  Signas replies politely after a beat.  _“However, I hope you understand that for the sake of not tainting my research with any bias, I cannot take Zero out of my list if that is your aim from this conversation. Even Dr. Cain never suspected anything out of the norm with Sigma right up until the Rebellion.”_

Signas is not a combatdroid, but those last words could categorize him as one. They punch the air and power distributors out of X, and the blue android sighs. Recomposes himself. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, sincere. “It was not my goal to do that. I was…”

 _“Were you having a worry spiral?”_  the reploid asks with quirked emphasis on ‘worry spiral.’   

The corner of X's lips twitch.  It seems despite Dr. Cain’s intentions, he’s clearly spending time with his son though it’s invested in gossiping about other people.

_“Yes. I was having one.”_

_“Perhaps it is not my place to say this to you, but please consider not…”_  Signas trails off.  _“Feel too much?”_  He pauses.  _“That was rude, wasn’t it.”_

Signas is too young and X has been the receiving ends of insults and criticisms afar and up close to find any personal offense at most things anymore. He only gives a weak chuckle because bolts, Signas' advice isn't groundless.

_“I'm sorry, X but I have to go. My mark is moving. If you have more to discuss, please call me four hours from now.”_

Signas abruptly withdraws from the comm channel, leaving X with a skewed sense of abortiveness and a whole new batch of thoughts to gnaw on.

 _Repliforce and the Hunters,_ a shadowy voice slithers out restlessly. _If the Virus is spread through violence, chances are wouldn’t there be an infected right next to you? Someone in the dark with a knife, ready to betray you. It can be anyone._

Shut up.

_Signas is right. You feel too much. That’s the problem._

Shut. Up.

X won’t get paranoid over something unconfirmed. This is precisely why X didn’t want to tell anyone about the Virus! It’s already affecting him, and as far as he’s personally concerned, he’s immune to it. He’s the last robot to be anxious of infection.

_But everyone else is free game like your Unit. Like Zero, if he isn’t already._

shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up

_Sigma. Mac. Who’s next? You know there will be one._

SHUT UP.

X pushes himself off the bar, not bothering to take his barely touched E-Tank with him. He’s going to take the elevator, go down to the Unit Leaders’ floor enter his personal quarters and recharge. He’s going to sleep.  

_Have you ever wondered that the reason you’re fighting with yourself so much is because for once, you’ll lose for standing on the higher moral ground? And you know it?_

X gets on the elevator.

_Denial helps no one, least of all you. You have something to lose._

X is going down.

_It’s just the entire world._

X doesn’t get off his floor. He goes lower and lower. He gets off at the ground floor. Mechanically, his legs take him outside, directing him on a path well tread, still wearing C-Rank colors so no one looks at him twice. 

He doesn’t sleep.

 

* * *

 

Oh. So here it is.

“The worst thing is that this isn’t even your fault,” X says. It's taking everything to keep his voice from cracking.

He feels his tear ducts activating and he hurriedly wipes his eyes, which isn't effective because robot hands make bad handkerchiefs. Still, he can’t read the screen effectively with blurry eyes and he hasto watch. It’s his responsibility.

Platax, an orange and white civiloid with her former company’s logo proudly emblazoned on her chest, statics by X’s side. “W-What do y-you…”

"Please don't talk," advises X quietly. "It's best that you don't risk even the smallest movement as you are right now."

Her voice gurgles into dry, crackling gasps. 

X’s computer monitor is supported by a retractable mechanical arm. He unlocks it, stretches the monitor from his busy corner and leads it to hover as closely as possible to Platax. It’s near enough so the other robot can see it without moving her neck. Not that she really can when she’s fully restrained to the bed.

X’s face twists. “You were a courier so you’re not expected to understand this. I’ll do my best to explain your condition.”

The First maximizes the compiler tab to dominate the entire screen. “This is the code in your motor node. These numbers are dangerously abnormal.” X highlights a couple lines. “This one sets the parameters for your strength potentiometers. Every reploid have algorithms that set limiters on their power output because they can damage themselves and others. The algorithms have been overwritten and now they’re pushing past the safety limit. It’s why you have less self-control and was able to break that counter." He glances downwards and adds," And your arm.”

The reploid moans. Underneath her the medical bed creaks morosely.  

X exvents deeply. He pulls up another compiler. “When we look at your sonogram, your electronic brain appears healthy. Nothing seems to be worn down, chipped, or dislodged. Of course right now your emotional node is on fire, but that’s…” X waves vaguely towards the reploid’s current predicament. “Unsurprising. But I’m reading your code and your databases and I don’t…I don’t know this language, and it’s inserting itself where it doesn’t belong. Your affectations database and your personality matrix…they’re damaged. This definitely came from an outside source. In fact…”

Finally, X pulls up two images side-by-side of microscopic hexagonal metallic units blown up in size for better visual clarity. “I think this may be why. The one on the left is how the average reploid nanite looks like. The one on the right is what you’re carrying. They look the same, but only when you’re in recharge. They’re asleep like you.”

Then he brings up a live camera feed that’s wired to Platax’s sliced circuitry between her thin exterior body plates. “This is how it looks like when you’re fully online. It’s protruding these tiny fins, see? And it’s attacking anything that doesn’t have them. According to your data logs, your self-repair has been at work for the past month ever since the burglary. But it’s not fixing anything. You have so little of your own nanites that your subroutine has turned on your self-repair to restore it back to normal levels, but it’s just feeding more material to this - this  _thing._  It's sticking onto your true nanites, drilling into it, and turning it into another one of itself.”

X pulls his wheeled stool and flops onto it, covering his face with his hands.

“It’s a virus. It really,  _really_  is a virus. Damn me.”

It’s one thing being aware of its existence. It’s another seeing the undeniable proof of it right there in front of him in all of its evil glory without the filter of pain, battle damage, and panic in the third war.

“We couldn’t find any of this from your scans,” the Father of All Reploids whispers mostly to himself, hands clasping tightly together. “It’s all in your coding. I’m sorry.”

By his side, the Maverick lying on the medical slab gasps softly. Her hands twitch under the cuffs.

X raises a hand and Platax whines, jerkily wiggling her head to shy away and failing.

“It’s okay,” X says hurriedly, drawing his hand back. “It’s okay. It’s over. I’m going to take everything out and let you go back to sleep, alright? You did a really good job and I..." he swallows, forcing out comfort he doesn't entirely believe because he knows better but it's the least he can rusting do for the poor child. "I'll do my best to treat your condition, okay? When you wake up again, you'll be better." 

Instead of placating the reploid, X’s words commits the opposite effect.

Platax grows more distraught and she shakes against her restraints harder. The electrodes are sticking stubbornly on the civiloid’s form but the wires are waving turbulently side to side. Platax’s voice spirals into panicked incoherency and static.  

X surges. “No, don’t – !“ he reaches for the giant surgical arms holding the forceps and the graspers. Platax’s movements are tearing the peeled flaps of her faux-skin messily to the side, and the laparascope is burying even deeper into her circuitry. “You’re going to rip your processor apart and I won’t be able to fix that –  _stop!”_

Platax stops, chassis heaving heavily as her green optics wildly flits to meet X’s, flits back to the sharp tool sitting above between her eyes still inserted in their forehead.

They lean their head back against the bed. X lets out a shuddering exvent, relieved.

Then Platax rushes upwards, deliberately inviting the blade deeper into her robotic skull with a nauseating, crinkling crack. She twitches then finally still, sighing into termination.

A major part of X is in frozen shock. He can’t move, can’t breathe – Platax was seven months old, practically a child, and she had friends who described her as flexible, generous, and diligent, hosted karaoke Fridays and improvs in varying degrees of success during clean-up hour  _and she was sick, she doesn’t deserve this._  

The other parts of X are comparably less sympathetic.

_Look at the camera: the nanites reverted back to normal and stopped functioning. Interesting, the code reads the same as it should now. No wonder studying deactivated reploids didn’t glean anything. Now you know. See, her sacrifice wasn’t in vain._

Sacrifice and suicide is not the same. This was why X didn’t want to open reploids. It’s a humiliating, terrifying and painful procedure, and it’s a living nightmare for those who fear it, which is the majority of reploids. It's the robot equivalent of humans undergoing a vivisection without anesthesia. He was trying to find every other way but  _this._

_She lost herself a long time ago. Most of her nanites stopped belonging to her and her processor was wrecked beyond repair. That was a dead bot functioning. If anything, she made your job easier, offing herself like that._

What? No. No!

_It’s okay to mourn. It’s five in the morning. Everyone’s asleep so can cry if you like._

That’s – that is  _not_ the main concern. What is going on, why is X rusting thinking like this - 

_This virus – a file injector via nanites maybe? - induces integer overflows. It affects every piece of machinery, loops around the variables, takes aspects of the personality and amps it up until it ceases to be what it used to be. It’s so simple and brutal it manages to be genius. It's a problem that no one knows how to fix, only delay._

_Which means...it’s incurable._

The Blue Bomber's communication network is always on, but right here, right now, the world can scream at him that there's a meteor on a collision path towards Earth and he can't muster up anything because the world is ending anyway. It's right in front of him all around him, a poisonous miasma of an enemy that the Azure Hunter can't simply blast with his buster.  

The Mega Man drops to his knees. A pale sorrowful blue underneath the judging, fluorescent white light, the last legacy of Light despairs.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my friend Terminus who’s a programmer and helped me come up on how the Virus worked. We’ve been talking about it since three months ago and FINALLY I’ve got it written out.


	6. Chapter 6

When morning crawls into acceptable waking hours, X marches into Cain’s office, knowing that the old scientist should be in there by now. With inscrutable green eyes and dried tear trails down his cheeks, the robot is greeted with the sight of Signas pushing the old man’s wheelchair. It’s half turned around the side of the desk, creating a picture of two people who entered literally seconds ago.

“Good morning, X,” says Signas politely at the same time Dr. Cain frowns,” What’s wrong,” instantly sensing X’s darkened demeanor.

X quietly slides up to the desk and lays a datapad on it.

“I opened up Platax.” X announces with an unemotional tone that belies how absolutely awful he actually feels.

While Signas tilts his head curiously, Dr. Cain gapes.

“You _what?”_ the human says as if he misheard the android. When X stays statue cold, the human surges. “X, I thought we agreed that we would restrict ourselves to non-invasive operations! Did you go around my back, took a reploid and – “

“I’ve recorded my findings in the tablet so I won’t repeat them,” X cuts in. “Before you say anything more, please take a proper look.”

The elderly roboticist’s mouth clamps shut, his disbelieving rage choking out in a red face as he obeys. Long bony fingers pick up the datapad and swipe across the screen, and Signas peers over the man’s shoulder. Though Signas maintains his stoic visage – most likely because he doesn’t understand the implications of the results so far - Dr. Cain grows paler, sweeping through the information, troubled.

It’s only when Dr. Cain voices aloud,” She was infected…” that Signas draws back up with some understanding.

“A confirmed infected,” the reploid states with a subtle note of approval. “We can make further progress using her as a point of reference.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, X shakes his head. “We can’t. She’s gone,” he whispers.

The detective reploid’s brows furrowing as if he doesn’t understand what that means. Considering how young Signas is, maybe he really doesn’t. “Gone?” 

“Read this part here,” Dr. Cain offers somberly, handing the datapad to the reploid so he can see it himself.

“She…terminated herself?” Signas stares at the screen as if he can’t comprehend it. “Did the Virus do that to her?”

“We don’t know the full extent of the Virus’ abilities to be sure,” answers X. “If the readings from the emotion node that I found in Platax is the same for every other infected reploid, the extreme paranoia and fear towards being opened up is a symptom. Even the self-termination may possibly be a defense mechanism induced by the Virus to be kept further hidden as well.”

X briefly recalls of the programmers long ago who accused X of being subconsciously programmed to not reveal his inner workings. The android forcibly shoves the memory away.

“Over here, ‘integer overflow’ is underlined three times,” Signas notes when he looks back to the tablet. “Can you explain to me what that is? I assume it is something bad.”

“That’s an understatement,” says X with bitterness. “It’s a fairly common cause of program errors that can affect every piece of machinery. Here’s an example: let’s say a reploid’s temperament is represented in numbers between one to ninety-nine, with one being peaceful and ninety-nine being violently psychopathic – it’s not,” X adds when he sees Signas about to interject again. “It’s a lot more complex than that, but I’m simplifying for the sake of the example. Now Signas, let’s say your temperament is a fifteen. An integer overflow will amp that up until you become the very opposite of who you used to be. Worse, it’ll continue to grow beyond what your mind can handle. It’ll drive you into _insanity.”_

After a tense beat, Signas asks, “I’m not an expert in any of this, but this sounds like a coding problem, right? Isn’t that fixable?”

X looks away, distressed. “It’s not that simple. We designed reploids so they _can’t_ be reprogrammed. That’s what makes you different from any other robot. In fact, any attempts to mess with your mind post-activation will cause you to severely deteriorate. Reploids can’t be…they _aren’t_ supposed to be tampered! That destroys the whole point of being an android! If anyone can just simply change up the variables in your coding, then how are you any better than a computer with a face?”

“But this Virus is doing just that,” Signas points out. “It’s reprogramming reploids – “

“It’s _ruining_ reploids,” interjects Dr. Cain, hushed and heavy. “Just as the human brain is fragile and susceptible to the most minor of all influences, so is a reploid’s processor. There isn’t an easy solution to this.”

“I can think of two ways to address it,” says X, trying to keep his exhaustion at bay. “The first one is to restart the reploid.”

Dr. Cain snaps his head up, not hiding his horror. “X, you know what that means to a reploid!”

X notices Signas’ blank expression and explains, “Complete identity destruction,” for the other robot’s benefit. To Dr. Cain, X asserts, “And I hate it too. It’s not a solution,” X asserts tersely to both Dr. Cain and to his own ruthless mind. “Which is why I want to go with the second way: we find a cure.”

Dr. Cain’s face falls. “X, you know that’s not possible...”

“We’ll find a way,” the Mega Man surges. “Somehow, someway, we’ll make a program that can fix it. We have to at least _try.”_

The tips of Dr. Cain’s fingers are turning white from pressing his chair arms too hard. “Scans and first layer evaluations can’t detect the Virus. X, can you determine a reploid is infected without opening them up?”

“Signas, didn’t you tell Dr. Cain about the symptoms list he gathered?” At Signas’ nod, X continues,” We have to go with that. I chose Platax because her profile checks out. She wasn’t a volunteer. With the way the Virus operates, I doubt any infected would. We…we have to forcefully open them. They’re not at the right state of mind to make sound decisions for themselves.”

“X, I…oh god.” Dr. Cain holds his forehead, staring out in space unseeingly He looks as if he aged another ten years in minutes. “So it has to come down to this. Opening up reploids while they’re alive and awake. This is…”

X shuts his eyes again, this time trying not to cry again. “It’s going to be rough. When I was opening Platax…”

He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the open gasping expression of fear, of this reploid looking at the Father of All Reploids as if she has been personally betrayed, twitching constantly in unspeakable amounts of pain and then willfully committing suicide when X told her it was going to be over. As if immediate death was more preferable than to live – even sleep - after such trauma.

And X is going to have to do that again. To as many reploids it has to take.

“Forgive me, but I feel as if I’m missing something crucial here,” inputs Signas, oblivious to the negative mood around him. “Earlier you mentioned identity destruction and I don’t understand…”

“If you reset a reploid they will cease being the same person they used to be,” says Dr. Cain sorrowfully. “It’s like stabbing a crowbar through a person’s brain. It drastically changes the neural chemistry and twist their personality.  

“No, I can understand that,” says Signas slowly. “What I don’t understand is that when it comes down to it, reploids are robots. I _am_ a robot. You built me. You can just replicate me.”

X turns away while Cain bows his head, fists trembling on his armchairs. “Yes Signas, I indeed built you. I built your processor, your core, and I did tweak the variables of your personality matrix to churn out base traits to be more on the logical side.”

“You _what?”_ erupts the Father of All Reploids. “You messed with the personality matrix?! That’s a key feature to make reploids as individualized as humans. Didn’t we agree to never touch it?”

“And you went behind my back and used my equipment to open up a reploid without informing me so I guess the disappointment is mutual,” retaliates Dr. Cain icily and groans regretfully when X recoils. “Sorry. Look, I don’t blame you since these circumstances aren’t normal. If they were, I would have never done what I did either. But my hope was that Signas would remain calm and decisive even when everything is falling apart even at the risk of trapping him. Considering what can happen, can you really blame me, X?”

The blue android shrinks within himself and Dr. Cain turns back to his personal creation who looks as uncomfortable as a child witnessing his family argue at a holiday dinner.

“Back to the point, there’s nature and there’s nurture, Signas. I can make another model like yours, but that person wouldn’t be you _._ You see, hear, feel, and grow as an individual, and your identity is the sum of those experiences. Maybe one day you’ll pick up Nietzsche and argue over his philosophy! Maybe you’ll have an interest in the concept of superheroes, but you’ll pretend that you don’t. One day you’ll go to a park and pet your first dog and develop a fondness for canines…I digress. What I mean to say is while I can reproduce your design, I can never reproduce _you._ I can never replicate your soul, Signas.”

X can see that Signas is bewildered, struggling to wrap his processor around his creator’s words, and how can he not? The concept of souls is hard for humans to entirely understand either.

Taking mercy, X gently adds,” Signas, do you remember how you were when you first activated? If we reset you, you wouldn’t even go back to that. There would be a different entity occupying your construction. Everything you are right now will be truly gone. Absolute oblivion.”

“…I see,” answers Signas disquieted. “Then shall we proceed to open up every reploid whose profile checks out the symptoms list?”

“You will not take part of it,” orders Dr. Cain quickly, some fire returning to his old bones. “I’ll be acquiring an all-human research team for this. No reploid should be involved with the operation and research process. The Virus is basically cancer if cancer is contagious. I’m not risking any reploid to come even close to this thing!”

“We need to work fast,” says X urgently. “We need to do some experiments to confirm, but for now the theory is that the Virus is spreading through nanites passed from one reploid to another through physical, violent contact. The Hunters…”

Retrospectively, it makes sense. After all, who instigated the First and Third War?

Soon, the Maverick Hunters are going to tear itself apart again.

Signas looks back to the datapad. “This situation is way bigger than Cain Labs can handle. Government action is required. I recommend sharing the findings to both the Maverick Hunters’ Commander and the Council.”

Covering his face with his hands, X exvents a sigh that seems to tear everything inside him out, a small, shaky thing bordering to a sob.

“X, what’s on your mind?” Dr. Cain asks cautiously as if he’s handling a timid animal.

_I’m thinking of how this can potentially all end in a catastrophic oil spill. I’m thinking how we can’t keep this quiet because that’s not going to help, but there will be negative effects of letting the Virus become public knowledge. There’s so many horrible scenarios that can happen._

_How many times throughout history have there been entire societies that fell apart because of how ill-equipped they’ve responded to mass disasters and outbreaks? Of how gracelessly they have handled fear, of how people would turn against each other in rage because it’s better than being afraid? And there’s always innocents unfairly scapegoated and inevitably got hurt._

_I’m imagining the extreme actions the Council and the Hunters may take to curb the spread of the Virus. That can go anywhere from halting reploid production to enforcing a program to put all existing reploids under oppressive supervision, – or worse, culling innocent reploids if they do anything that makes them perceived to be Maverick. My hope for a peaceful coexistence between humans and reploids will become so much harder to attain._

_I’m worried. I’m scared. I…_

“I need to make preparations,” X says finally. “The Council need evidence. They will ask how we acquired these findings. Just in case I need to tie up any unfinished business I have with the Hunters…”

Signas catches on immediately. “You have to confess that you went against orders. All the abducted reploids that Cain Labs have acquired were under the Seventeenth Unit’s jurisdiction. Everything points to you.”

The Azure Hunter hangs his head, resigned. “We don’t know what’s going to happen. I can get demoted or fired from the Hunters. I don’t think they’ll go so far to declare me Maverick – “

“Not unless they’re goddamned fools!” injects Dr. Cain heatedly. “You had good intentions!”

“And you’re Mega Man,” remarks Signas. “You have a reputation and you will likely receive the benefit of doubt.” He pauses. “Also, it’s going to be your morning shift soon. Unless you plan to forgo your work to talk to the Commander right now, you don’t have the time.”

X checks his chronometer and grimaces when he sees that Signas is correct.

Dr. Cain makes a vague gesture towards the door. “Whatever happens later, right now you’re still a Hunter. Go back to Base and...you know what? This should be good for you. You should take a step back and have a break. You just finished opening Platax who self-terminated for god’s sake. That’s not something you can easily shake off. Whether you think so or not, you’re not unscathed by this experience, X.”

_Hah, if anything you’re acting irrationally melodramatic over this. You’re a veteran of three wars. What’s another suicide to add onto the list?_

As if a frosty wind screened through him, X freezes, systems growing cold.

Not again.

“You’ve gone through enough and you don’t need to be so hasty to get on with this shitshow,” grumbles the old human kindly and X latches onto Dr. Cain’s voice like a lifeline. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“...Okay,” accedes the Elite Unit Leader.

 _The Virus isn’t going to spread any slower or faster because you have proof of its existence now,_ a part of X quips sarcastically. _Take your time. If you can’t find a cure, at least everyone will eat each other alive on schedule._

X suppresses a twitch.

Shut up.

 

* * *

 

Even if X doesn’t want to think about the Virus, it keeps coming up in his forefront of his processor.

He doesn’t have a choice. His mind works with or without his permission and he’s a rusting Hunter. Dealing with Maverickism is his job and knowing that any Maverick that he’s fighting can be an infected distresses X like never before.

X can’t deny it; ignorance was bliss. He’s currently gunning down a labor reploid turned Maverick (part of a strike turned bloody after the reploids shot their human supervisor and coworkers with illegal acquired firearms) and X isn’t mentally all there.

 _What if one of them was infected,_ he considers quietly as hydraulic fluids consume the floor. _What if right now, we’re all being exposed to the Virus._

X opened up Platax hoping to quell his growing paranoia after Signas suggested that there could be infected Hunters, and the Blue Bomber internally bemoans that the paranoia has only increased with confirmation.

He felt the Virus. He still vividly remembers the pain. He didn’t have a chance to try earlier, but what if he just reaches out and have direct contact with someone else’s nanites…

“ARGH!”

Snapping back to reality, the Azure Hunter gasps and promptly drops the torn out arm in his left hand (when did he do that?) as the Maverick in front of him hobbles backward, face wrenched in obvious pain. The Maverick’s other hand shakily hovers above the torn cables from their newly acquired stump, falling on their rear with a harsh clank.

X stares blankly at the dark fluids coating his hand.

_No pain. Either this reploid is a voluntary Maverick or that headache with Sigma was an isolated incident. Perhaps there has to be special conditions on how the Virus transfers besides violence? Need to test on more subjects preferably in controlled environments._

X almost jolts out of his armor when a second later, someone else’s buster blasts against the Maverick’s head and they go still.

“Are you alright, sir?” One of the other Hunters inquire, rushing up to X. “You froze for a moment there.”

“I’m fine,” murmurs the Elite Unit Leader. Then abruptly he yells, “Duck!” and shoves down the younger Hunter in time for plasma-based projectiles fly above their heads.  

 _How did those human sayings go again?_ remarks a lax voice as X dashes to the side, firing back as soon he takes cover behind a crate. _Something like you can’t make an omelette without breaking a couple eggs? No pain, no gain? You want answers, you need to get your hands deep in that crude._

X offlines the last Maverick. He hears a Hunter cursing about the mess behind him as he transforms his buster back to his hand.

_Here’s the bright side at least: if opening Mavericks gets too fracking obnoxious, you can just shoot them dead. Boom. Nice and simple. Just like you’ve always done, Maverick Hunter X._

Shut. Up.

 

* * *

 

When X returns to headquarters, the exhausted Hunter delays his duty to paperwork in favor for compensating last night’s forgone recharge.

He rises from sleep a couple hours later more rested and feeling more grounded. Unfortunately, his mood hasn’t improved.

_Taking a nap doesn’t make everything better all of a sudden._

X sits up in his capsule but doesn’t make an effort to leave it yet. The Seventeenth Unit Leader briefly considers turning in his day’s report then sleep the rest of the night away.

 _But extra recharge is so, well, extra. There has to be something worthwhile doing. Maybe go to the park? You like public parks. You like what they represent._ _Oh wait, in winter there wouldn’t really be anyone at the park. Something else would be better. How about the beach?_

X bends over, resting his elbows on his knees as he buries his head between them. He digs his fingers into his helmet as if he can claw in and take his processor apart. If only he can disassemble his thoughts and flick away the unhelpful.

_Seems the whole ‘out of sight, out of mind’ thing doesn’t work on you. Fair enough. The Virus is too big to ignore._

“I’m becoming unstable,” X speaks out loud as matter-of-factly as he can, partly to hear his voice over the ones in his head. “This is bad.”

That he has to talk to himself at all quietly disturbs him. He never needed to do this before but here he is.

“Having multiple mental inputs like this is a new development.”

_First time for everything. You would know about that wouldn’t you, First?_

“It could be the stress. No, it _is_ the stress. Dealing with the Virus and the circumstances that surround it require cautiousness.” X exvents, feeling himself centering. If there’s a benefit in talking to himself, there’s a beneficial sense of distance by laying what he knows out clinically. “Every major decision relating to it is political. Keep it confidential and we lose the opportunity to allocate dire resources to it. Expose it and we risk moral panic.” Another deep breath. “It’s normal for me to worry so much. It is normal for to have conflicting directives. And if I’m having trouble, I have support. I have friends to lean on.”

X blinks. In what feels like the first time in forever, a genuine smile steals over his features.

He hasn’t seen Zero in long time, hasn’t he? Fritz, X kept telling himself to keep in contact with Zero more especially when he’s told the other Hunter about the Virus’ existence, but he got so busy again…

X checks the time and his eyes light up. He flips into his personal comm channel with the Zeroth Unit Leader.

_“Zero, are you awake? You didn’t go off to patrol yet, right?”_

A beat later, the other end of the channel statics to life.

 _“I haven’t. I’m at the cafeteria.”_ More seriously. _“Is something wrong, X?”_

The Blue Bomber winces. It really says a lot about their current relationship state when Zero expects to hear an oil spill when X contacts him.

Well, not this time. The Blue Bomber can inform the other Hunter about the newest Virus update later. After everything he’s gone through recently, X can allow himself one peaceful moment.

He needs it.

_Violent physical contact, remember? Signas marked Zero as a possible –_

X shakes his head.

If Zero was an infected, he would have turned against X during the Rebellion along with Sigma and the rest of the First Generation Unit Leaders. Zero has so many opportunities to raise the Z-Saber against humans but he never did.

If anything, Zero is a symbol of hope. If Zero fought by X’s side through all three wars without turning Maverick, isn’t that proof that the Virus doesn’t simply take everyone it touches?

_No background, no memory. Never went to Medbay and never needed to. Maybe you should open –_

X viciously pulls the brakes on that intrusive train of thought before it can go anywhere.

 _“Nothing’s wrong!”_ X laughs and he hopes it doesn’t sound forced. _“I just have some free time and it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I want to catch up. It’s pretty dumb that we work in the same building and we barely see other. Anyways, may I join you for refuel?”_

_“Fritz, when did you ever need to ask? You sound like you’re resetting back to your rookie days.”_

Flooded with relief, X chirps, “ _See you in a minute,”_ already up and striding to the elevators. Once he sees that the number above the doors are stopping every two seconds, he marches straight to the stairs. He’s almost embarrassed at how excited he is – he _really_ need to develop a better habit to see his best friend more frequently.  

The night shift Hunters are out and about, crowding the canteen and filling it up with the hustle and bustle that X is more used to seeing during the day. It takes a nanosecond for green eyes to hone onto a familiar red helmet in among the standard Hunter armors of olive greens and teals.

X smiles unrestrainedly, nodding distractedly to every Hunter he steps around, everyone respectfully greeting the Elite Unit Leader as he shuffles closer to his destination.

Then he pauses meters away from where Zero is sitting.

The Crimson Hunter is not alone.

It appears that he’s engaged in a conversation, attention occupied by the two reploids joined at his round table and they’re not anyone X remembers being from the Zeroth Unit the last time he checked - which is actually quite some time ago now that he thinks about it. The Father of All Reploids is analyzing their constructions and he can’t help but be a little confused.

The first reploid is very round and bright yellow as if someone tried to translate the appearance of a sun into a robot. That degree of stoutness in a humanoid is not common. Extra subtanks? Usually reploids who require to store energen for long amounts of time work in wild environments to operate longer hours without refuel.

The second reploid who’s sitting close to Zero has a design that’s more unconventional. Their build is slender and petite. Long brown synthetic hair tied to a very low ponytail, head crowned with a beret. They’re dressed in primary reds and blues and –

Wait. Is that a dress? An actual robot dress?

The crimson warbot’s sharp gaze snap to X like a homing beacon. “What are you standing there for?”

X pastes on a smile. “I didn’t want to interrupt. I didn’t know you had company, Zero.”

Zero raises a brow. “It’s not a problem, is it?”

“Of course not,” X replies hastily.

The two stranger reploids twist their heads to follow Zero’s line of sight, finally noticing the Azure Hunter.

“You’re Captain X,” says the brown-haired reploid, recognition entering their eyes.

“I am. And you two are…?”

“Double, sir!” the stout reploid proclaims eagerly. He stands up from his seat so fast his uncoordinated limbs knock into the table awkwardly, making the other reploid shout. He slaps his arms strictly by his sides like a soldier standing before his superior - which is technically true considering X’s rank but it doesn’t make the scene any less embarrassing. “I’m a rookie. Still uncategorized but I’m getting Navigator training so…”

“It’s nice to meet you.” X tilts his head. “Double...that’s an interesting name. Did you choose that for yourself?”

“Not really. It just refers to my double supply in tanks,” Double says, patting his round abdomen.

“If you’re a rookie, are you training under Zero?”

“No, sir. I kinda got dragged here because of Iris, heh heh.” Double gestures at the other reploid sheepishly before quickly stammering, “Not that I _didn’t_ want to be dragged, I mean, being here with someone so scar – amazing! Amazing like Zero is such an honor – and wow, you’re here too Captain X, and bolts, I um, don’t really deserve to be here in the company of such prestigious Hunters like you and - ”

“Don’t be silly,” X interrupts kindly before the yellow reploid spirals further, internally cringing. The Blue Bomber has experienced being the receiving end of such deferential display multiple times before, but this rookie is a bit too much. “We’re normal bots like everyone else.” Smoothly, he shifts attention to the other reploid. “Iris, is it?”

“Yes, sir,” says Iris with a stunning smile. “I go by she, her pronouns and I’m the Navigator for the Zeroth Unit. I’m so glad that I can finally meet you!”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” says X slightly dazed, dragging his gaze to Zero meaningfully because the Crimson Hunter _never_ needed a Navigator.

If X had less self-control, he would drop his jaws at the sight of Zero sipping his E-Tank, slightly twisted away to subtly avoid meeting X’s eyes.

Very curious.

“So, what were you all talking about?” asks X as he comes closer to the table. He tries to move to sit next to Zero, but Iris and Double start shuffling around the curved seating to open a spot nearest to the blue android, a polite gesture to accommodate him. X smiles and takes it, sitting between the two young reploids.

"We were talking about Sky Lagoon,” says Iris.

“Sky Lagoon? I haven’t gone there before, but I heard it’s a very beautiful city,” says X, trying to recall what he knows of it. “It’s famous for its high-tech infrastructure and spa attraction.”

“If you haven’t gone there, you should take the chance, sir. The Flower Festival is coming right around the corner. Imagine riding the Ferris wheel or taking an oil bath surrounded by millions of flowers.”

“That sounds so beautiful,” Iris whispers in awe. “I would love to see that.”

“I can take you,” says Zero next to her and he’s smiling. Smiling. When was the last time X saw his best friend smile? It feels like such a while ago.

“I finished reserving two shuttle tickets into the South Gate,” the red warbot continues. “That’s going to be where the parade is going to start.” 

 _What,_ X thinks dumbly.

“Bolts, that was fast,” Double says under his breath.

Iris perks up, but quickly deflates, concerned. “Zero, isn’t the Festival going to happen during the day? And what about work and - ”

“It’ll take some work-around, but it can be done. Don’t worry about it, Iris. I have you.”

X sees the start of a motion in Iris. Bending forwards, arms opening wide, and a part of X recognizes exactly what she’s going to do and the Blue Bomber is about to stop her because Zero doesn’t do hugs, he’s a combatdroid and it entering his innermost physical range isn’t wise - 

But Zero is wrapping his arms around her as if catching her and all words die in X’s throat in pure shock.

“You’re the best, Zero,” Iris says, nuzzling into Zero’s shoulder and he’s letting her. The Red Ripper is allowing another individual to enter with his vulnerable proximity and making no sign of reaching for his saber. He doesn’t even look uncomfortable.

He looks happy.

X suddenly feels like an intruder, witnessing something personal and impossible. X doesn’t know these people, doesn’t know this Zero and he feels like his internal systems dislodged because seriously, what in the absolute frag happened while he was gone?

_Isn’t it obvious? He made other attachments._

That’s…that’s not a bad thing.

Ever since the Rebellion, Zero has closed himself from other people outside of X and who could blame him? Being the highly vigilant combat-based model he is, Zero hands out trust in scraps from the top of a perilous cliff, glaring down at climbers who wants a speck.  

This is good for Zero. This is a good thing.

So why does X feel like his cogs are tumbling out of order?

Introspection, _now_.

 _I’m ashamed and sad,_ X begins slowly. _This shows that I’m missing out so much of your life. I was so hung up with the Virus that I didn’t maintain contact. Being busy doesn’t excuse me for not taking the time to ask you how you’re doing._

X hasn’t been a good friend and should be happy for Zero. It’s so hard for people like them to make friends after constantly losing people through the wars. This is progress at the right direction.

 _Progress?_ Interjects a snide voice. _Are you stupid?_

Oh no.

_With the Virus running around, this is the least favorable time to relax. You shouldn’t be wasting your time like this. Update Zero on the research and get a move on._

X shuts his eyes.

 _Welp, this isn’t helping,_ inputs another voice, sounding nihilistically casual. _You’re a rusting oil spill, getting worked up like this. How about you ask Zero for a spar? He loves sparring – he won’t turn it down._

X buries a clenched fist under the table.

 _Or you can go with the flow,_ encourages yet another. _What’s drops to an ocean? You’re so wound up over the smallest things when they don’t matter. Clearly Zero’s gotten better socializing. Why don’t you try hugging him too? Maybe this time he won’t be so awkward._

X knots his ankles together, locking them in place before he does anything impulsive.

 _You can save Zero a lot of hurt if you tell him how the Virus operates,_ whispers something darker from the back of X’s processor. _If his new friends don’t turn Maverick, that’s good. If they do…he’ll be ready. It wouldn’t be the first time he killed his friends._

X abruptly shoves away from the table.

“Thank you so much for letting me join you all for a moment,” X says as calmly as he can to the sets of stares around him. He smiles and hopes it’s convincing. “I wanted to drop by to say hi, but now I have to go. There’s work that needs to be done.”

He hears Zero’s voice calling for him. “X – “

“Sorry, but I’m really busy. I’ll talk to you later, Zero!” X cuts him off hastily, spinning on his heel and stalking out of the canteen in a powerwalk. 

 _Shut up,_ X pleads quietly to the collective storms in his mind. He scrunches his eyes shut, purely relying on subroutine and proximity sensors to avoid hitting against anything as he goes back to his room, to recharge, to nothingness.

To silence.

 

* * *

 

The Hunters are undermanned. They haven’t properly recovered their numbers since the previous war, which means there’s a lot of empty spaces waiting to be filled.

Until then, Double comes and goes wherever he pleases.

It’s honestly hilarious how naïve these idiots are. Because the Council is too cautious to give them anything, the Maverick Hunters have become desperate to the point that they’re willing to take in anyone, even as someone with such horrid qualifications as the fake ones Double turned in. The security here is so scrap that Double sometimes wonders why his liege doesn’t simply order him to set up a bunch of bombs and level the entire place down.

Well, that’s not for him to decide. Master Sigma is ineffable. The undying, all-powerful reploid.

The Messiah.

Whatever his liege wishes for Double to do, the spy will carry it out to the smallest cog.

“From what I’ve learned, apparently X ordered for the Mavericks to be captured and preserved,” Double relays faithfully to the mic. “He wanted to know why reploids were becoming Maverick and suddenly stopped. However, he became busier and frequents Cain Labs in his off time.”

A few moments later, Double laughs again. “Zero? There’s nothing to worry about there. He’s found a new toy.

“…Hmm? Oh, her name’s Iris. She’s doing a good job keeping his attention occupied. Before she came, I had to run away from him because he kept staring at me for too long. Like he was trying to pin down what’s off.”

Double smirks, grasping the side of his helmet in wonder. “But this time I sat next to him for an entire hour and he didn’t care! X is one thing, but Zero? Hah! They’re both rusting up. Either way, everything is going smoothly. No one has caught on.”

Double stretches out one hand, elongating his fingers and reverting them.

“’Magma Dragoon?’ He may be keeping a low profile, but he’s getting antsy. He’s going bolts from the inaction. If he doesn’t keep his processor on straight until the Flower Festival, I’ll take care of him for you…hmm? Another mission?”

After listening to his new orders, Double bends his head back, barely suppressing his joy.

“Ohhhh, I can’t wait to look at X’s face then. Thank you, my liege. I won't let you down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like "One Petal Stayed," this fic can stand by itself. However, it also is crucial for setting up another story in the "Game Restart" series.  
> Otherwise, this story is technically over! Thank you for joining me!


End file.
